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GIPSY JANE 











« A BIRD OF GAY PLUMAGE IT WAS THAT DANCED UPON 

THE SWARD.” 


#ip0g Jfane 


By HARRIET A. CHEEVER 

» 1 

Author of’'’ Maid Sally," “ Madame Angora, ’ “ Strange 
Adventures of Billy Trill S *• Doctor Robin f etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

BERTHA G. DAVIDSON 



Boston Estes 

& Company Publishers 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

MAY 16 1903 

Copyright Entry 

hvtvcfc ; M r 3 

CLASS^ CC XXo. No, 

K 0 ^ 

COPY B. 



Copyright^ igo^ 

By Dana Estes & Company 


All rights reserved 



f * * 

< ^ GIPSY JANE 

Published, May, 1903 


(ZDoIonial 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 
Boston, Mass., U.3. A. 


03'IZ2JI 


CHAPTER 

I. 

The Fling .... 




PAGE 

1 1 

II. 

The Stories 




17 

III. 

The Old Fortune-Teller 




30 

IV. 

The Peddler . • . 




42 

V. 

The Violin .... 




55 

VI. 

The Dance .... 




69 

VII. 

The Music-Hall 




86 

VIII. 

The Concert 




101 

IX. 

The New Fortune-Teller 




115 

X. 

Being Measured . 




129 

XL 

In Madame Roland’s Hands 




145 

XII. 

Little Gipsy Jane 




159 

XIII. 

Tired Out .... 




168 

XIV. 

The Man from Chicago . 




181 

XV. 

Rosa 




195 

XVI. 

The Jubilee .... 




209 

XVII. 

The Last Concert' . 




223 

XVIII. 

Money . . • . 




239 

XIX. 

The Beautiful World 




249 

XX. 

Grandpapa .... 




260 

XXL 

The Little Lady of Rosemere 

Hall 


274 





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


♦ 


PAGE 

“ A BIRD OF GAY PLUMAGE IT WAS THAT DANCED 

UPON THE svjARn" {See page IS) . . Frontispiece 

‘“There’s beautiful music out in the world, I 

EXPECT 44 

“ She crept up the rude wooden stairs, and 

SAT QUIETLY DOWN ” 58 

“The FLUTTERING BIRD IN YELLOW AND WHITE 

DANCED ON ” 161 

“A CHILD WAS SKIPPING ALONG IN HIS DIRECTION” 233 

“‘And this is Master Bruce’s dear little 

BABY?’” . • 261 

‘“ How DO YOU DO, GRANDPAPA? I AM YOUR LITTLE 

GRANDDAUGHTER, JaNE ’” 267 

“ ‘ Now, YOU MUST LEARN TO HOLD THE VIOLIN JUST 

right’” 280 


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’•' I 










GIPSY JANE 


CHAPTER I. 

THE FLING 

^‘That’s it, Ma-belle, toss you hands way 
off to the right, and high up as you can. Hi! 
that’s fine, Ma-belle! Shake hard, dearie. 
Yes, there you go! 

“ Hi ! Betty Martin, tip-toe, tip-toe. 

Hi ! Betty Martin, tip-toe, line I 

“ Up and down and round she goes. 

Twirling on her little toes. 

Up and down and round she goes. 

“ Hi ! Betty Martin, tip-toe, tip-toe. 

Hi ! Betty Martin, tip-toe, fine ! ” 


12 


GIPSY JANE 


“ Keep up on you toes, fly to right, and fly 
to left. Ah, that’s my brave bit of a Romany 
lass!” 


Oh, a breezy, witchy, charming little crea- 
ture it was that went flying like the wind to 
the merry jingle, dancing high up on her feet, 
and whirling about, graceful as a kitten. 

On her right hand she balanced a tam- 
bourine, which, with wonderful skill, she 
knocked and drummed upon with the other 
hand, and then shook smartly with both 
hands. 

Indeed you might have thought it a fairy 
sure enough, or a wood-nymph, had you 
chanced to peep between the trees just then, 
and have seen the child, who danced as if 
she had come into the world dancing, and 
for no purpose but to dance. 

Her hair of shining purple-black, not more 
than four or five inches at the longest, flew 
in light curly rings about her head, and rip- 
pled over her forehead. 


THE FLING 


13 


But you could not have seen her lovely gray 
eyes as she flitted like a breeze, nor have no- 
ticed how long were the lashes that shaded 
them, lashes of a deep purple-black like her 
eyebrows and hair. They were sweet eyes, 
long and dreamy, and, in truth, her whole 
morning-like face was fresh and fair as a 
baby’s, and quite as innocent. 

Her short skirts fluttered airily as she flew 
about, keeping exact time to the rattling and 
the ringing of the tambourine. 

A bird of gay plumage, in fact, it was that 
danced upon the sward, — a fluttering crea- 
ture dressed in a skirt of some cotton material 
of a bright scarlet hue, trimmed with yellow 
tinsel, and bordered around the edge with a 
mixed red and yellow fringe. The waist of 
black velvet, well-kept and well-fitting, was 
covered with bead work in different colors, 
and a fall of rather wide lace, more brown 
than any other tint, dangled at her elbows. 

Oh, brave, Ma-belle, brave!” cried the 
old dame sitting on the ground, as the twin- 


GIPSY JANE 


14 

kling feet danced on, scarcely touching the 
grass, and the tambourine shook and sparkled 
high above the midget’s head. 

All in red, black, and gold, covered with 
spangles, shaking fringe and lace, making the 
tambourine play jingles of surprising bril- 
liancy and glee, round and round went the 
beautiful, light-footed child, while Granny 
Bekka cheered her on. The exercise did not 
seem to take her breath away, for the little 
girl danced as naturally as a bird would sing. 

Yet it was not altogether a wild measure 
to which she tripped. Steps had been care- 
fully taught her by the keen-eyed woman on 
the grass, who was in very truth her grand- 
mother, although it did not appear possible 
that one could be related to the other. 

The music and the fling were at their 
height when a tall, dark man, a strong-look- 
ing fellow, came across from a near tent and 
watched the flying figure. 

“She do dance splendid,” he said; “it’s 


THE FLING 1 5 

lots of money she’ll bring when she begins 
going round.” 

She’ll go round when I say so, and not 
before,” said Mother Rebekah, sternly. 
“You let her alone; her eddication isn’t 
finished yet.” 

The old woman’s black eyes snapped, and 
her beaky nose looked high and commanding 
as she spoke, and the man thought she looked 
much like an eagle that was watching one 
of its young. 

And he would not have dared to say an- 
other word about having the little girl go 
into the street and earn money with her danc- 
ing and her tambourine, as long as Mother 
Rebekah looked that way at the mention. 
For tall and strong as he looked, the man was, 
in a way, afraid of the old dame. 

He moved back toward the tent, while 
Mother Rebekah watched her pride and de- 
light, as in and out, around and between the 
trees, sped the flashes of red, black, and gold. 
The tambourine tinkled soft music, shook 


6 


GIPSY JANE 


like a forest of bells, or boomed like a brave, 
smart little drum. 

Suddenly the child broke into a wild, sweet 
carol, repeating several times the words: 

“Tra-la! Tra-la ! Hi-ho ! Hi-ho ! 

sung to a merry lilting tune of her own, while 
floating and flitting like the air-sprite of a 
midsummer’s dream, a glinting of flying 
curls changing lights from many-colored 
beads, tossing skirts, swaying fringe, and 
twinkling feet, away and away she flew, — 
little Gipsy Jane. 


CHAPTER 11. 


THE STORIES 

If Mother Rebekah had an idol in this 
world, that idol was little Gipsy Jane, if, in- 
deed, she could love anything better than she 
loved money. 

But she belonged to a race that do not be- 
lieve in having idols, and it is a question 
whether it was really love as much as it was 
pride and great hopes of what she might be 
worth to her in the future that she felt for 
her spry little granddaughter. 

The little gipsy’s mother had only lived 
about a year after the child was born. No 
one now knew anything about her father, and 
Mother Rebekah had tended and cared for 
her in a queer, fond way nearly all her little 
life. 


17 


GIPSY JANE 


She often left her to the care of other gip- 
sies, while she went about telling fortunes, 
selling baskets, or gathering roots and leaves, 
from which she made “ simples ” to sell from 
door to door. The “ simples ” being medi- 
cines of a harmless kind, which often were of 
real value in easing a pain. 

But when evening came. Mother Rebekah 
was generally in or near her tent. Then it 
was she taught little Gipsy Jane many things, 
some true, some queer, some really not true 
at all. But the gipsy child had a knowing 
little head of her own, and, while she listened 
to Granny Bekka’s strange stories, and took 
in nearly every word she said, she added her 
own bright dreams and pictured out her own 
imaginings. 

Not for anything would the child have had 
Granny Bekka know how strong was the 
longing in her little soul for just one thing. 
But the one thing that she loved better than 
anything else in the world that she yet knew 
of was music. Granny Bekka had taught her 


THE STORIES 


19 


to dance, but she had taught herself the vari- 
ous measures and jingles of her tambourine. 

Ajax, who acted as chief man of the 
“ Mother Rebekah Camp,” played the guitar, 
but the instrument he used was an old one, 
and Ajax did not play very well. Yet the 
little gipsy always listened with ears wide 
open to the strumming of the guitar. 

Moses, another man of the tribe, went about 
with a hand-organ, earning what he could by 
grinding out a few tunes. Little Gipsy Jane 
hated the hand-organ; she already had too 
fine and correct an ear to think there was any 
real music in the wheezy old box. 

All at once she began to wonder if there 
was not really good music in the world some- 
where. And almost as soon as she began won- 
dering about it, she began believing there was 
if she could only find it. And next, her whole 
little soul began longing to find and to hear it. 

But when she said to Granny Bekka one day 
that she wanted to go out into the great world 
and hear fine music. Granny became queer 


20 


GIPSY JANE 


and mysterious. She peeped and mumbled 
and warned the little gipsy that she must 
never venture outside of the woods. If she 
did, she might not be able to find her way 
back, and then there was no knowing what 
might befall her. 

Ignorant people will almost always work 
on the fears of those whom they wish to con- 
trol. And Ajax, the chief, Moses, the full- 
grown man, Huldah, the cook, Bathsheba, 
Tricksy, Zadoc or “ Zid,” the pony-tender 
and errand boy, and the several other mem- 
bers of this particular tribe did not dare to 
disobey Mother Rebekah, who always had a 
story at her tongue’s end to show the danger 
of disobedience. 

There were about twelve or fourteen per- 
sons making up the encampment, and all were 
in a way under the rule of Mother Rebekah, 
who was not hard or cruel, but shrewd, fond 
of money, fond of finery and show, and of 
ordering things about the camp. 

Ajax believed, so did Moses, Zadoc, and the 


THE STORIES 


21 


women, that should they disobey or greatly 
displease Mother Rebekah, she could make 
an evil spirit vex or harm them. 

You know gipsies are a wandering people 
who have no settled homes, are mostly careless 
and ignorant, leading wild, easy lives, having 
but few laws of their own, and caring but 
little for the laws of the land, except that 
they generally are afraid to break them, for 
fear of getting into trouble. 

In most gipsy tribes or “ camps,” as they 
call their separate companies, there is usually 
an old “ mother ” or “ wife,” who takes the 
lead, knows rather more than the rest, and is 
looked up to and acknowledged as the head. 
Then some stalwart, strong, and sinewy man 
is regarded as the chief. 

This is only natural, as you know every 
band of people must have a leader or head. 
In the family, the parents are the heads; in 
a company of soldiers, the captain leads, and 
over the whole nation is the President. 

And so in this gipsy camp, old Rebekah 


GIPSY JANE 


was looked upon as the mother, or head; and 
they all called her “ Mother Rebekah,” ex- 
cept little Gipsy Jane, who had been allowed 
to call her “ Granny Bekka,” and never called 
her anything else. 

Strange and witching stories had the old 
grandame told the little gipsy maid, until her 
curly head was full of them. And the even- 
ing and the starlight were full of wild but 
pleasantwitchery to the child, who would look 
up at the stars and fancy them smiling and 
twinkling down on her far, far native land. 

For Mother Rebekah had told her time and 
again that she belonged to the ancient land 
of Egypt. That all the gipsies came first from 
’ Egypt, and that from that old and mystic 
country they got their most honorable name, 
— Egypt, gipsy. 

Mother Rebekah could read a little, and 
from different sources had scraped together 
many sayings and old-time beliefs, that she 
had stored in her good memory and preached 
often to the members of her tribe. 


THE STORIES 


23 


But into no other ears had she poured the 
weird, mysterious, ever-changing mesh of 
stories that had been listened to by little Gipsy 
Jane ever since she had been old enough to 
listen to anything. She was made to believe 
that way back, hundreds of years before 
Granny Bekka was born, her tribe was made 
up of princes and princesses, that they were 
King Pharaohs, Queen Miriams, and Queen 
Rebekahs, great and mighty in the land. 

Then, in some strange way, the gipsies were 
next found in the distant land of India. From 
India they wandered to France, and thence 
to Rome, and, after hundreds of years, they 
crossed to America, where they found them- 
selves treated with more kindness than they 
had ever met before. 

She explained that, because they chose to 
live in tents like the ancient Egyptians, and 
have a religion of their own, they were de- 
spised and driven about, never being allowed 
to stay long in one place. 


24 


GIPSY JANE 


“What is religion?” asked the child one 
day. 

And Mother Rebekah could only reply: 
“You be too little to understand much about 
it. Only you must know that He who made 
you is the great Lord of Hosts, the same that 
all peoples call ‘ God.’ He made all the peo- 
ple there are, but we are His people in par- 
ticular, because we keep to the old laws, and 
live as people used to live in the beginning.” 

Granny Bekka did not mention that this 
was in a much warmer climate than ours, nor 
that the habit of living in tents belonged to 
the long past. But the gipsy child was told 
again and again that the ancient Egyptians 
lived in tents, kept great herds of sheep, goats, 
cows, donkeys, and horses. They dressed in 
silk and all fine raiment, had jewelry in great 
abundance, rings, necklaces, bracelets, arm- 
lets, anklets, and all manner of showy orna- 
ments. The stars led them about by night, 
the waters talked to them by day. 

Granny Bekka used high-sounding words. 


THE STORIES 


25 


and made fine pictures of brave, warlike men 
on prancing horses, the men dressed in armor 
of shining gold or steel, the horses tricked 
out in embroidered saddles with fringes of 
gold and silver dangling at their sides, and 
glittering chains looping from about their 
ears and heads. 

The women sat in the doorway of the tents, 
arrayed in purple and fine linen. “ Purple,” 
said Granny, “ is the royal color, and our 
women used to wear purple velvet fringed 
with gold, or covered with strings of pearls. 
Some of our tribes will not speak of them- 
selves as gipsies now, because the name has 
sometimes been regarded with scorn. Yet we 
cannot help clinging to it, although we use 
the word ‘Romany’ oftener. For Rom 
means roaming, and it sounds like Rome, 
where many of our people sought shelter 
years ago. Yet, remember, Ma-belle, Egypt 
and gipsy belong to one another.” 

It probably never occurred to Mother Re- 
bekah that possibly the child with the dreamy 


26 


GIPSY JANE 


gray eyes did not quite believe all she said. 
But whether the little gipsy maid believed 
or not, the stories worked themselves into her 
dreams, and when, in the tinsel and finery 
that she had been taught to love and that she 
did love, she tripped off and off to the music 
of her tambourine, she was all the time imag- 
ining herself dancing before King Pharaohs 
in royal robes; queens of the East, in velvet, 
jewels, with richly scented tresses, and being 
watched by a great multitude in some vast 
temple, made half of gold, and lighted by a 
thousand lamps filled with perfumed oil. 

Granny Bekka noticed that little Gipsy 
Jane always danced better when arrayed in 
her red and yellow skirt and her beaded vel- 
vet waist than when she wore her plain print 
skirt and flowered cotton waist. The child’s 
garments were all gaudy in color, yet — she 
owned no hat or any other covering for her 
head than a red handkerchief with a fringe 
around the edge. She owned neither cloak 
nor sack such as other children wore. 


THE STORIES 27 

A shawl folded over so that its thickness 
kept out the cold in the winter, and a cheap, 
flimsy mantle worn across her shoulders in 
chilly weather were the only outside garments 
that she knew anything about. She never re- 
membered being inside of a house in her life. 
The people of the Mother Rebekah Camp 
were nearly all the people she had ever spoken 
to. 

Eight years old, and she could neither read, 
write nor make figures, when all at once her 
whole little soul became filled with a longing 
that grew from day to day. 

It came through that sudden desire and 
hunger to hear music, real music, while 
listening to Ajax’s imperfect playing on the 
old guitar. She wanted something far better, 
something better even than she could get out 
of her beloved tambourine. 

And yet, you probably do not understand 
how very much the little gipsy could get out 
of the tambourine. It was one of the best to 
be had. How Mother Rebekah managed to 


28 


GIPSY JANE 


get it was a secret of her own. It often was 
a secret and a mystery where things came 
from in the camp. 

But little Gipsy Jane would hold the tam- 
bourine high above her head, run her thumb 
in a rapid, skilful way along the smooth drum, 
making a thrudding run of amazing swiftness, 
then in a measured way she would shake all 
its bells, at the same time knocking it with 
her knuckles, making it sound as if beaten 
with drumsticks. And all the time she would 
be dancing the wild yet even fling that made 
her look more like a little human butterfly 
than anything else. 

She tried taking two steps where Granny 
Bekka had taught her one, then she made it 
three, and after a time her dancing and play- 
ing had come up to a perfection that made 
Mother Rebekah jealous and afraid. She 
peeped about and mumbled to herself: 

“ Great Pharaoh! if any of them actor-men 
should see my little Romany girl dance and 


THE STORIES 


29 


play, they would steal her sure enough, or 
else coax her away.” 

But at this time little Gipsy Jane was almost 
as ignorant of the world as the birds above 
her head. She had slept in a tent or on the 
grass nearly all her little life, sometimes with 
a charcoal fire or a great blazing of logs to 
keep her from freezing; sometimes near a 
stream to keep her from roasting. 

And she knew almost as little about what 
was going on outside of some deep piece of 
woods as did the donkeys that carried the few 
camp belongings from place to place. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE OLD FORTUNE - TELLER 

“ Granny Bekka? ” 

Yes, Ma-belle.” 

Mother Rebekah had read in a little story 
she got hold of one day that a very fine 
and much-admired young girl was called a 
“ belle.” And as she liked the sound of the 
name, she began calling her little gipsy maid 
“ My-belle,” then she clipped it to “ Ma- 
belle.” 

The little gipsy must have had something 
on her mind she did not know exactly how to 
speak of or to ask about, for she was quiet a 
moment, then she said again: 

“ Granny Bekka? ” 

Yes, Ma-belle. What you want? ” 

“ I want to go somewheres.” 

30 


THE OLD FORTUNE-TELLER 3 1 

Mother Rebekah laid down the coarse 
work on which she was sewing, and looked 
with so much surprise and concern at the 
child sitting idly beside her that the little 
gipsy was half-frightened. Yet she was glad 
it was out. 

“Young child! young child!” cried the 
old dame, “ whenever one of our tribe has 
grown restless, it has been a time to beware! 
Do you know anything about the dim and 
dark ‘ somewheres ’ you want to go to? Rom- 
any children are only safe inside the tent 
until their hair has grown and their dresses 
are long. Wait until you are tall and big, 
then Granny Bekka will take you about, but 
you must never, never go alone. 

“ The world is a very wicked place. And 
Granny Bekka has told you faithful all about 
the plagues that came to our ancient people 
when they did not obey. There were frogs 
and locusts that pestered them sore, and dark- 
ness fell right in the middle of the day. 

“ What would you do, Ma-belle, if you got 


32 


GIPSY JANE 


out into the road some day, and all at once 
the sky grew dark, and the camp was nowhere, 
no Granny Bekka, no Ajax, no anybody? Oh, 
be careful, Ma-belle, you’s young and tender, 
and don’t know anything about the world and 
the Sodom and Gomorrah that it is!” 

The gipsy child was quiet. But she glanced 
at the tents, the narrow path in the woods, 
and thought how tired she was getting of them 
all. 

“ Yet I must obey,” she thought. “ I don’t 
like frogs, and I don’t believe I should like 
locusts. And, if it grew all dark in a place 
^-where I couldn’t find Granny Bekka or the 
tents, I might be terribly frightened.” 

But at evening, after the stars came out, and 
the moon was riding high in the heavens, little 
Gipsy Jane all at once said to herself: 

“Pooh! pooh! There wouldn’t any frogs 
or locusts come up, nor the moon, nor the 
stars, nor the great, round sun wouldn’t get 
mad and run out of the sky just because a poor 
little Romany maid wanted to go beyond the 


THE OLD FORTUNE-TELLER 


33 


camp, and out of the woods, and see some- 
thing new. I’ll just find out if they would.” 

You see, new ideas and new wishes were 
beginning to run riot in the child’s mind, and 
3^et she knew it would not do to say a word to 
Ajax, Moses, or any of the women of the camp 
about these new longings. There was just one 
person, however, she thought might help her, 
or, at least, might tell some things she wanted 
to know, if only she could get a chance to 
speak to him when no one else was by. 

Gipsies do not like to go into stores. This 
tribe almost always managed to get the few 
things they needed without appearing them- 
selves in either village or town. The baker, 
with his wagon, usually soon found them out, 
sometimes the butcher with his cart. But 
most important and, perhaps, most welcome 
of all was the peddler either with his wagon 
or his pack. 

If it was tinware, brooms, pails, and tubs 
that were being carried about, the peddler 
had a gaily painted wagon and a good stout 


34 


GIPSY JANE 


horse, and it was easy enough to have a few 
bags of flour or grain and other articles of 
food, or of “ feed,” in the capacious wagon. 

Or, if it was dress-goods, ribbons, hand- 
kerchiefs, and various “ notions,” such as pins, 
needles, thread, pieces of finery, or cheap jew- 
elry that the peddler had with him, the things 
were in a pack on his back, and sometimes a 
string of brushes would also hang dangling 
from his arm. 

It was astonishing what an amount and 
variety of goods a peddler’s pack could con- 
tain. Nearly all the clothing little Gipsy 
Jane had ever worn came from a peddler’s 
pack. Often they carried about skirts and 
garments bought of well-to-do people, who 
had grown tired of them. 

Some pieces of finery, it is true, like the 
velvet beaded waist and a pretty pair of patent 



leather shoes 


owned. 


Mother Rebekah had bought on some sly 
pilgrimage, but by far the most of what the 
child knew as dry goods ” had come from 


THE OLD FORTUNE-TELLER 


35 


the great clumsy bundle that it was always a 
dear delight to see opened whenever the ped- 
dler showed his welcome face. 

Now it occurred to little Gipsy Jane that 
it was a long time since any of these men had 
been around. And there was one in partic- 
ular that she always liked to see, because he 
was younger and better-looking than some of 
the others. Granny Bekka called him “ Tim- 
mins,” and once said that he was honester 
than most pack-men.” 

Now the child began to wish that Timmins 
would appear, so that she might question him. 
Yet how she could question him, even if he 
did come to the camp, she had no idea. 

The camp at present was in a place they 
all liked so much that it was likely they would 
stay there a long time — that is, a long time 
for gipsies. It was in a deep piece of woods 
on the outskirts of a town or village not many 
miles from the great city of New York. This 
was some years ago, when woods were thicker 


36 


GIPSY JANE 


and deeper near the large cities than they are 
at present. 

And one reason why the camp had gone 
into winter quarters in these woods — it was 
the last of the summer now — was because 
some lumbermen — men who cut down trees 
to saw up into wood — had left quite a good- 
sized hut behind them, one that the gipsies 
thought quite good enough to be called a 
house. 

Ajax had got a peddler to buy an old stove 
for him, and, as there was plenty of brush or 
light wood that could be picked up and used 
for kindlings, the tribe expected to have con- 
siderable comfort in the cold weather, as they 
did not require nearly as much warmth as 
most people. 

Ajax also had agreed to pay the owner of 
that tract of woods a small sum for the piece 
of “ outdoors ” where they had raised their 
tents, so they were not likely to be interfered 
with. The ponies could be sheltered in the 
camp when the weather grew very cold. 


THE OLD FORTUNE-TELLER 37 

It happened that about two weeks later 
there was to be a German picnic at the far 
end of another piece of woods, and Mother 
Rebekah had gone, in brilliant array, to sit 
at one end of the grove and tell fortunes. She 
wore a light cloak of scarlet cloth, and over 
her head was a handkerchief bright with red 
and yellow dots, the usual fringe for a border 
dropping upon her shoulders. 

Mother Rebekah was past sixty years of 
age, yet her hair was black as soot, without a 
white thread in it. Her teeth were white and 
strong, and her dark, tawny skin, piercing 
black eyes, and important-looking cast of fea- 
tures made the men and the girls turn and 
look at her a second time, as she sat under a 
wide-spreading tree. Then she would make 
her voice soft and wheedling, as she called: 

Tell-a-fortune! Only ten cents! Tell-a- 
fortune! Only ten cents! And tell-a-fortune 
true!” 

One after another the girls would stop, 
laugh half-sheepishly, then hold out a hand. 


38 


GIPSY JANE 


when the old woman would pass her long, 
dark finger along the lines of the palm, and 
pretend to tell the fortune. 

Some of the men would want their fortunes 
told, too. But no matter who dropped ten 
cents into Mother Rebekah’s bank close at 
hand — they always had to pay before the 
fortune was told — the same old story re- 
peated itself over and over, only in different 
words. 

A bright, laughing girl would hold out her 
hand, growing a little sober and nervous as 
the old gipsy, pretending to study the inner 
lines, would exclaim: 

“ Oh, me, me! What this I see? A man! 
A man coming right across you path! What 
he want? Oh, let me look closter. What he 
want? Ah!” smiling up into the girl’s face, 
“ he want pretty missy for his wife. Want her 
soon! Look out! Nice man on the way to 
pick up missy for his wife. But, ha! what 
this again? Another man come! He want 
missy, too. Me ! me ! Missy must look sharp ! 


THE OLD FORTUNE-TELLER 


39 


Two men coming to get her, one dark, one 
light. There comes dark one, and, ah! there 
comes light one, too. Missy must choose. 
They cross so dost, fortune-teller can’t see 
which one beat. But two nice men come for 
missy soon.” 

The girl blushes, smirks, and lingers with 
a face covered with smiles. Her young 
man,” who has heard enough of her fortune 
to want to know more, thinks perhaps he will 
learn what he wishes to by having his fortune 
told. Chink! goes his ten cents into Mother 
Rebekah’s bank, and out goes his hand, which 
the gipsy woman begins to examine. 

“Me! me! What strong lines in this hand! 
What comes here? Is it a horse? No. A 
carriage? No. Ha! I see; it a lady! A 
pretty, pretty lady. Light hair” — the girl 
who stands by listening has light hair — 
“ wears fine big hat, and smiles sweet as a 
rose. Who comes there? A man! He likes 
fair girl, loves her. Me! me! but here comes 


40 GIPSY JANE 

’nother man! Who gets fair girl? Let me 
see.” 

Mother Rebekah bends lower over the 
broad palm, carries the end of her finger 
along the lines, then, with a great grin, show- 
ing her fine teeth, she exclaims: 

“All right! 7ow gets fair lady'; lines show 
it plain as day.” 

Ofif go the couple, the young man and “ fair 
girl,” looking as silly and as happy as a couple 
of satisfied children. 

So, while Mother Rebekah was taking in 
ten-cent pieces at the rate of a dime almost 
every five minutes at the gipsy woman’s chief 
trade, fortune-telling, her pretty grandchild 
wandered through the woods, wishing some- 
thing would happen different from the very 
same few things that happened every day. 

She wished Mother Rebekah had taken her 
with her to the picnic, and she would have 
begged to go only she was afraid that Granny 
Bekka’s eyes would snap, and that she would 
say again: “ You can go nowhere outside the 


THE OLD FORTUNE-TELLER 41 

camp until you hair is done up and you dresses 
are long.” 

So ofif and off she strolled, still keeping to 
the woods, until she came to a place thickly 
grown with shrubbery between the trees. 

She had her tambourine, and all at once 
began wondering if she could dance and play 
without tripping in the closely grown place. 
“ ril try it,” she said. “ If I tear my gown, 
it’s my old one, and Granny Bekka can mend 
it. I don’t care if I do tear it.” 

She did not mean to be naughty, but the 
poor little girl was in just the frame of mind 
when even a child will feel desperate for need 
of a change, and it was fortunate that her 
nimble feet and her tambourine could help 
her. 

“ I’ll imagine I’m in a jungle by the river 
Nile,” she said, “ and make believe I’m going 
to dash into the presence of Pharaoh’s daugh- 
ter and a whole line of court ladies. So, here 
I go!” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE PEDDLER 

With her tambourine held well aloft, 
where nothing could catch or harm it, the 
little gipsy capered through the narrow ave- 
nues between young trees, tall trees, and high 
shrubs, never catching toe or heel, but con- 
stantly going faster and faster, as the swift 
knocking at the tambourine lent speed to her 
spry little feet. Occasionally she broke into 
her wild chorus of — 

«Tra-la! Tra-la ! Hi-ho ! Hi-ho ! 

neither music nor dancing ever getting ahead 
of her twinkling feet. She was always “ on 
time.” 

The merry whirligig went on until the last 
of a thick clump of bushes was reached, and 

42 


THE PEDDLER 


43 


she whisked into a slight clearing where trees 
had been felled. Here, with the ease of a 
little fawn or young deer, she threw herself 
on the grass scarcely a bit out of breath. 

She was perfectly quiet for a moment, then 
what was her surprise, on lifting her eyes, to 
see Timmins, the peddler, sitting on a stump 
at a little distance, his pack resting on the 
ground beside him. For an instant she forgot 
all about the desire she had felt to see and 
to question him in amazement at his sudden 
appearance. His words soon reminded her 
of it. 

“My heart!” he exclaimed, “but you’re 
the trim little racer! Bless the soles of your 
little feet! Why, you might go on to the 
boards to-morrow, and the gentry would just 
fling down the dollars to see you dance! And 
you play the tambourine fit to join a brass 
band.” 

“ What is a brass band? ” asked the young 
gipsy. 

“ Don’t know what a brass band is? ” cried 


44 


GIPSY JANE 


the peddler. “My, but you oughter! It’s a 
company of men that play on flutes, cornets, 
fifes, drums, and such like. Fit to set you 
crazy with the splendid chime of it all.” 

Ah ! here was something exactly of the kind 
that she had been pining for and to learn of. 
Then it flashed over her that here was the very 
man she had wanted to see and to question 
about “the world,” and, what luck! no one 
else by. 

“ There’s beautiful music out in the world, 
I expect,” she said, not knowing just how to 
begin her questioning. 

“ I should say there was,” Timmins replied. 
“ Why, a Miss Fleet-toes like yourself, that 
can handle a tambourine in the style I’ve just 
heard, ought to be learning music of one of 
the master hands. One of them as could bring 
music out of a rock almost.” 

The gipsy’s drooping eyes grew wide with 
the questions rising out of her heart. 

“Where could I go to hear fine music?” 
she asked. 



“‘there’s beautiful music out in the world, I 

> » 


EXPECT 






THE PEDDLER 


45 


“ There’s plenty of it over in the city every 
day and night, and in lots of places,” said the 
peddler. “ My heart! but you should hear 
one of the great musical companies play! ” 

The gray eyes flashed. “ But Granny 
Bekka won’t allow me to go anywhere, nor 
won’t take me anywhere ; it would be no use 
to ask her,” came in a disappointed tone. 
‘‘Isn’t — isn’t there some place not far oflf 
where I might hear a little good music? 
Somewhere that I could creep to and not be 
gone long? ” 

The peddler was sharp and quick of under- 
standing. Peddlers were famous for their 
sharpness in those days. He laughed pleas- 
antly. 

“ Ah, I see, you want to come a little ‘ steal- 
away,’ and not be missed.” He thought a 
moment, then went on in a brisk tone: 

“Well, now, see here! You know that 
great barn at the cross-roads, don’t you?” 

“ No,” said the child. 


46 


GIPSY JANE 


“ Well, you know where the cross-roads 
are?” 

The gipsy maiden shook her curly head. 

“Jinks! but you have been kept* close!” 
the peddler exclaimed. “ Come here for a 
twink.” 

He started straight for the road-end of the 
woods, the child following. It took some time 
to come in sight of a road. 

“ Now your camp is way over on the other 
side of those tangles, isn’t it? ” 

“ Yes, way in deep, but straight through.” 

“ Very well, you could find your way out 
to the road easy enough. Now, if you keep 
straight along down quite a piece, until you 
come to the end of the fields on the right, 
you’d be at the cross-roads, — four roads that 
go up and down and across. Then, in a field 
at the left is a great barn; you’d see it right 
away. And I happen to know that nights a 
tall lad, or young man, goes into that barn to 
be all by his lonesome, and practise the violin 
where no one will disturb him. I’ve heard 


THE PEDDLER 47 

him playing away nights when I’ve gone past, 
like as if he was a-pleasing of the angels.” 

Timmins grew lofty in speech as he thought 
of the lone violin. 

I think as he’s fitting himself most likely 
to play with some great company, and it’s no 
fool business with him, his playing isn’t. But 
ofif all alone, with no one to listen or to bother 
him, he just lets himself go, and, big jinks! 
can’t he play? Why, I tell you, his violin just 
sings and cries aloud. It does indeed!” 

“I’ll go!” gasped the listening gipsy, all 
fears and caution gone to the winds. “ I’ll 
go! Granny Bekka may scold, may scare, 
may cast me out like the bondwoman, but I’ll 
go!” 

“ Your granny ought to let you hear the 
right kind of music,” said the peddler, wrin- 
kling up his forehead with a fatherly air. 
“ Why, it might be the making of your ever- 
lasting fortune.” 

“ Oh, but Granny Bekka mustn’t know,” 
cried the little gipsy, feeling for the first time 


48 


GIPSY JANE 


in her life that she must be sly, “ and no one 
over to the camp must know, else I’d never 
get away, and now it would almost kill me 
not to hear the violin. Once a man came into 
camp with one, but it squeaked, and he 
couldn’t make it go, but, if there’s fine music 
in a violin that’s not far off, I must get over 
to it, and I will ! ” 

“ You’ll be a terrible cute little ^ steal- 
away,’ ” said Timmins, “ but, see here, you 
must creep over to the fields opposite, and 
go along by the strip fence inside the fields, 
then there won’t anybody see you. It might 
not be safe for a peep that’s never been any- 
where by herself to go about after dark, and 
I wouldn’t lead you into danger, no, not for 
gold! Take my advice, keep close to the bars 
and the hedge until you come out close by the 
barn, and I reckon you’ll be safe enough.” 

“Yes, I will,” said the listening child. 

Then the peddler threw his pack over his 
shoulder, and started for the encampment, 
little Gipsy Jane straggling after him, and 


THE PEDDLER 


49 


forgetting for a wonder to feel any interest 
in his great budget of wares. As the rest of 
the camp gathered eagerly about him, the 
child sat down on a moss-covered stone, and 
said, softly, to herself: 

“ Granny Bekka will be gone till late to- 
night; the picnic won’t break up until near 
midnight, and she will stay as long as it keeps. 
I’ll bunch some clothes up in my straw bed, 
and Tricksy’ll think it’s me. The only hard 
thing will be getting ofif with no one seeing. 
But I’ll do it! I sha’n’t stay long, and, if any 
one sees me coming back, I can say I’ve just 
been roaming.” 

At that point she thought again of the frogs 
and the locusts, and the thick darkness that 
plagued her far-away ancestors. Her sharp 
little mind again reasoned it all out to her 
own comforting, also showing her true knowl- 
edge of that history: “ They did not obey the 
great Lord of Hosts,” she whispered, “ and 
so lots of the people were harmed because 


50 


GIPSY JANE 


they didn’t. I am only going a little way, and 
sha’n’t harm any one. I shall go! ” 

The expression of the little gipsy’s face 
changed when she said, “I shall go!” in a 
way that would have made some older people 
want to smile. 

Then she strayed over to the circle gathered 
around the peddler, and found that Ajax had 
bought her some scarlet ribbon to twine about 
her tambourine, and a gay yellow knot for her 
hair. Her natural love of finery crept up, 
and sent a becoming glow into her cheeks at 
sight of these welcome gifts. 

As she was handling them with a delicate 
touch, the peddler managed to stoop in bind- 
ing up his pack, and whispered so only she 
could hear: 

“ You’ll have to come a gipsy trick to run 
to the barn all right. The young fellow plays 
in the loft; I’ve seen his lantern there. Be 
sharp now on the ‘ steal-away.’ ” And he 
dropped another little roll of ribbon into her 
hands. 


THE PEDDLER 5 1 

He had no need to caution her. There was 
a kind of shrewdness in her nature that would 
act both as a safeguard and a spur. 

She was impatient for evening to come, 
and, when the stars came out, she put clothing 
in her bed, as she had said she would, and 
then, as no one was watching or noticing her 
movements, she strolled away and away until 
after quite a little trot the road was reached. 
In a moment she was over in the fields, and 
running swiftly toward the cross-roads. Yes, 
there was the great barn right before her in 
the field opposite. 

Little Gipsy Jane glided into the great, 
barren building. The young man was at his 
practising, the bow sweeping the strings, 
bringing forth the weird, peculiar cry that 
belongs to the violin alone, — the instrument 
of all others in the world most human in its 
tender, joyous, or plaintive voicings. 

Had an artist seen the gipsy child and the 
attitude she struck as the strains reached her 
ear, he surely would have wanted to paint 


52 


GIPSY JANE 


her as she stood. Her hands were clasped 
before her heart, but held off a little way, as 
if folded for prayer, while the expression of 
her face was so rapt, eager, and full of ex- 
pectancy that she looked like a little dark- 
browed seraph all ready to take flight. 

Suddenly the violin broke into a swifter 
measure, the bow striking the strings with a 
whirry sound, sending forth a rippling twang 
that filled the listening child with fresh won- 
der. 

“Now it’s smiling,” she whispered. “A 
moment ago ’twas sighing and moaning, but 
— I like the mourning best.” 

The little gipsy had within her the true 
instinct or appreciation of fine melody, that, 
fond as she was of the sparkling dance music 
of her tambourine, yet made her feel that 
what she loved most was the sweet, dreamy, 
refined beauty of more exquisite strains. 

Then back went the player to the long- 
drawn, delicious notes of a soft serenade. 
Little Gipsy Jane had never heard anything 


THE PEDDLER 


53 


like it before. It set her keen imagination to 
work. She went over and leaned against a 
rough beam, as if she must have something 
to lean against. As the fingers and the bow 
drew forth lingering, songful notes, the little 
girl murmured to herself: 

“ It’s the birds and the stars. They’re cry- 
ing and sobbing. The birds are mourning 
for their little lost mates. The stars are drop- 
ping lots of tears for their poor little sisters 
that have wandered off and can’t find the way 
back again. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” 

Little trills and running passages began 
mixing in with the more pathetic chords. 

“ The angels of the skies are comforting 
them,” she gasped. 

Then the music swelled and swelled; deep 
sighs ran into clear calls of morning cheer, 
and next, with a skilful hand, the player 
brought forth such a wealth of melody, rich, 
full, and grand, that the child, leaning against 
the great beam, felt herself trembling all over 
with emotion and panting with excitement. 


54 


GIPSY JANE 


All at once she ran swiftly through the door, 
whispering in broken sobs: 

“ I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it! If I 
stay any longer I shall cry right out loud. 
Then what would the boy think! ” 


CHAPTER V. 


THE VIOLIN 

The little gipsy was in luck, for no one saw 
her go and no one saw her come. She had 
been in bed a long time when Mother Re- 
bekah came in from the picnic, walking as 
sturdily as though she were a young woman 
instead of being well past her prime. 

The child heard the money rattling in the 
tin bank before Mother Rebekah unscrewed 
the lid, and she knew a good pile of silver 
went into the old stocking where Granny 
Bekka put it, then hid it away. 

She lay very still, but it was hard to get 
asleep, for the music of the violin was sound- 
ing in her ears, almost as plainly as if she were 
still actually hearing it, and then her mind 
was busy with planning how she should man- 
55 


56 


GIPSY JANE 


age to run to the barn the next evening. For 
she had got a taste of what her little soul had 
been longing for, and nothing now must keep 
her from hearing those wonderful sounds 
again. 

“ And I’m going to the city before long, 
too,” she said to herself, “ to hear some of the 
great, beautiful music Timmins told about. 
I wonder how I can get some money! ” 

It was the first time she had ever wanted 
money. Everything had been bought for her 
thus far, even the candy and peanuts that the 
peddlers sometimes had, or that one of the 
women got on one of their few errands to 
the store. 

And now that little Gipsy Jane was begin- 
ning to find herself out, she made up her mind 
that she was not going to be afraid of anybody 
or of anything. “ The Lord of Hosts is kind,” 
she said solemnly, “ and Granny Bekka says 
He takes care of His children and of Romany 
folks in particular, so I must be safe enough.” 

You see she had never done wrong as yet, 


THE VIOLIN 


57 


and did not mean to do wrong now; in fact, 
she had no clear ideas as to what was really 
wrong. Ah, but she had a very strong little 
will of her own, and a good deal of courage 
besides, and courage is not usually a gipsy 
trait by any means. 

She fell asleep at last, and the next morn- 
ing was perfectly delighted to hear Mother 
Rebekah say there was to be another picnic 
that night, and that she must be there to tell 
fortunes again. I had great luck last night,” 
the old mother said, with several satisfied nods 
and smiles. 

So, after the stars were again peeping forth, 
and her bed had been hunched up in due 
shape, away sped little Gipsy Jane, and, after 
quite a little journey, was delighted to find 
herself in the great barn a second time. 

To-night, a dance tune was rippling and 
sparkling, as the runs, trills, and brisk, sharp 
picking at the strings filled the little listener’s 
ears with pure delight. 

You see again, the child had been kept so 


GIPSY JANE 


58 

close that very many sights and sounds, with 
which most children of eight years would 
have been familiar, were as new to her as if 
they had just come into the world. 

Now, as the sprightly music seemed to drop 
like sparkles from the fingers of the player, 
the little gipsy thought all at once that she 
must see the man or the boy who could play 
like that, and must also see him play. 

She crept up the rude wooden stairs, open 
at the back like a ladder, and at the top of 
the flight sat quietly down. Not far from 
where she had perched, a young man, scarcely 
more than a boy, with a face so sober that the 
gipsy child wondered if he was unhappy, 
stood before a simple stand, on which were 
sheets of music, while a lantern was fastened 
on a beam close by, giving sufficit ' light to 
show the notes, and also to show plainly the 
face of the grave young fellow as he played. 
The gipsy child was in the deep shadow. 

Now you must know that a face will often 
tell much of what a person’s nature or char- 



^‘SHE CREPT UP THE RUDE WOODEN STAIRS, AND SAT 

QUIETLY DOWN.” 



f 







•w» 

^ r 







THE VIOLIN 


59 


acter may be. And the little gipsy, all un- 
taught as she was, looked at the thin, fine face 
of the tall lad playing with such skill, and 
thought within herself: 

He has seen the world, the great, wonder- 
ful world. He knows all about the dangers 
Granny Bekka tells of, but he knows all about 
the good things,too, and the fine, grand things, 
else he couldn’t play like that. I think he 
must know a good deal about pain, and I 
shouldn’t wonder a bit if he had heard the 
stars talking.” 

The music was running into a lullaby, and 
the same feeling came creeping over the child 
that had driven her out the night before. It 
grew stronger now, because the face of the 
player she saw so plainly looked high and 
lofty, as he slowly drew the bow across the 
strings, and the sweet, caressing music drew 
on the fancy of the little music-loving gipsy. 

She did not know it, but the tears were 
falling over her sweet little face as she lis- 
tened, and she was breathing short and hard. 


6o 


GIPSY JANE 


as back came the picture of mourning birds 
and sobbing stars. Then, as the melody grew 
deeper, she became still more absorbed, and, 
looking at the serious face with so much of 
spirit-like expression to it, she half-mur- 
mured : 

“ Oh, I wonder if he is one the Lord of 
Hosts ever speaks to. He looks as though he 
might have heard His voice.” 

The music swelled and sank, then tripped 
out a measure of such sweetness as made the 
child think of Heaven. 

“Yes, I think that must be the way they 
play in Heaven,” she whispered, but this time 
she made a choking sound that caused the 
young m.an to turn and gaze in amazement 
at the small, shadowy figure seated at the top 
of the stairs. He was so surprised that for a 
moment he remained perfectly quiet. Then 
he asked, almost sharply: 

“ Who are you? ” 

“ Tm little Gipsy Jane,” came from the 
shadows. 


THE VIOLIN 


6l 


“Little Gipsy Jane?” repeated the young 
man. “ Do you belong to that tribe over in 
ze woods that Fve heard people talk about? ” 

“ Yes, our camp is in the woods up yonder,” 
said the child. 

“ And how did you get in here? I thought 
no one know I come here to play ze violin.” 

“ Timmins told me you played,” said the 
child, simply. “ He is a peddler, and has 
heard you playing nights when he’s been by. 
Then, when I told him I wanted to get out 
into the world, and hear some good music, 
he told me about your violin. But Timmins 
doesn’t know how you can play! Not the 
way I do.” 

This was interesting. Nothing touches and 
nothing wins a true musician more quickly 
than to know the soul and spirit of his music 
is understood. But the young player had no- 
ticed what the little girl said. 

“ What makes you want to get out into 
ze world? ” he asked, “ and where have you 
been all ze days?” 


62 


GIPSY JANE 


“ I’ve never been outside our camping- 
places, never! And Granny Bekka says there 
are dangers away from the tents. But I don’t 
believe but what the world is beautiful. I 
want to see it, and I want dre’df’ly to hear 
different music.” 

“ Different music?” asked the player. 

“Yes; Moses goes about with the hand- 
organ. I hate the hand-organ!” 

The young man shrugged his shoulders and 
tossed forth his hands, as if he, too, would cast- 
the hand-organ far from his hearing. 

Little Gipsy Jane went on: “No, you 
wouldn’t like it, I know. Ajax plays the 
guitar — he’s our chief — oh, but there are 
no cries or tears, or stars or birds or glories 
in his playing. I play the tambourine, and 
dance to it. Granny Bekka thinks wonder- 
fully, but the violin, oh, the violin talks! Yes, 
it talks and it cries and it sings. Say, do you 
think I could ever play the violin?” 

The idea had never occurred to her before, 
and only came now as a passing thought, yet 


THE VIOLIN 


63 


the idea made the long gray eyes suddenly 
open so wide that the young man said, with a 
slow smile: 

“ Your eyes grow as large as ze cat’s.” 

“ What makes you say ‘ ze ’ instead of 
‘ the ’ ? ” asked the child. 

“ I am I-talian,” answered the young fel- 
low. “ I studied ze violin many a year in 
Rome, where I was born. . I learn ze English 
language very well, but only can’t learn to 
speak ze word ‘ ze,’ only to say ‘ ze.’ ” 

The little gipsy did not laugh; she under- 
stood, but her voice was full of animation as 
she exclaimed, brightly: 

“ Oh, my people once belonged in Rome, 
Granny Bekka says so, and she often calls me 
her Romany lass. I know it means ‘ roaming,’ 
but I like having it sound so much like 
Rome.” 

The twittering figure, light as a feather, 
and the lively air that was making the little 
gipsy seem like another child from the one 
that had sobbed and caught her breath at his 


64 


GIPSY JANE 


playing, seemed like a new and interesting 
study to the young violinist. 

“ I should think you might dance well,” 
he said; “won’t you bring ze tambourine 
and let me see you dance? I’ll let you come 
and hear me play if you’ll dance so I can see.” 

“Yes, yes,” gasped the gipsy. “I’ll go 
right and get the tambourine now, and come 
back and dance for you to-night.” 

The young man shook his head. “ No,” 
he said, “no, no, it too late to-night; come 
to-morrow night. Where could you dance? 
Not here.” 

“ I’d have to be outside,” said the child, 
“ but I am used to dancing on the green, you 
know. Will you play just once more, then I 
must go.” 

The young musician put an end of his vio- 
lin under his chin, touching it lovingly. “ I’ll 
play you ze slumberland song,” he said; “ ze 
music that brings sweet dreams.” 

He closed his eyes, drew a long, slumbrous 
sweep across the strings, and wafted ofif into 


THE VIOLIN 


6S 


— a soft, dreamy melody full of sweetness, and 
breathing only of rest. Once he peeped at 
the little gipsy, but her eyes were drooping, 
the heavy lashes nearly touching her cheeks, 
and he knew she was drinking in every note, 
and loving every note that fell. When he 
stopped, she gave a deep, deep sigh. 

“ You should go to ze great concert, and 
hear an orchestra play,” he said. 

“ Oh, what is that? ” cried the child, start- 
ing up, her whole figure alive with interest. 

‘‘ It has sixty players, sixty men, playing 
on many different kinds of instruments. 
There’s ze cornets, trombones, French horns, 
oboes, cymbals, triangles, cellos, ze harp, 
flute, trumpets, bassoons, clarinets, drums, 
and as many as twenty violins.” 

All playing together? ” gasped the child. 

“ Certainly, yes. All playing together part 
of ze time. Then one play alone, others come 
in, and at ze grand chorus, all boom together. 
Bravo! but it’s grand, it’s grand! I’m to 
play at a grand concert this week. I play 

h 


66 


GIPSY JANE 


alone some parts, then ze orchestra comes in 
with me. That’s what makes up ze orchestra, 
all those different pieces, or music instru- 
ments.” 

“ Where is it to be? ” asked the little gipsy. 
“ Over in ze great city.” 

“ Across the railroad? ” 

“ Yes, across ze railroad.” 

“ What’s the great city’s name? ” 

“ New York.” 

The child caught her breath. Had she not 
heard Ajax speak of that place, as if in it 
was every kind of man ever heard of on the 
face of the earth? And had not Mother Re- 
bekah shaken her head, and muttered about 
travelling to Sodom and Gomorrah,” when 
Tricksy, one of the younger women of the 
camp had wanted to go there to buy some 
finery? 

Tricksy had gone, although Mother Re- 
bekah mumbled and peeped and talked about 
“ snares ” and “ great abominations,” but she 
did not quite forbid it, so Tricksy went. 


THE VIOLIN 


67 


To-night, all there was of little Gipsy Jane 
was fired with a desire to manage in some 
way to get to the great city and hear that 
music, no matter what the dangers. She was 
small and spry, and could press her little body 
into close quarters, and, after all, what could 
harm her? Tricksy had gone, and then come 
back as good as ever. And the splendid, gay 
things she had bought! Tinsel and glass 
breastpins, necklaces, scarfs fairly trembling 
with bright fringes. And such boots! thick, 
shiny, and creaking beautifully when Tricksy 
walked. 

“ Good night. I’ll come to-morrow even- 
ing,” and the strange child had darted over 
the stairs and away before the young man had 
a chance to ask if she were not afraid. 

As the little gipsy ran across the road, her 
head full of what she had heard, she saw 
Tricksy standing, as if watching for some one. 

“Where you been?” asked the girl. 
“ Ajax’s been searching for you.” 

“ I’ve been roaming,” said the little gipsy. 


68 


GIPSY JANE 


“ You better not let Mother Rebekah know 
you went into the road,” said Tricksy. “ You 
wouldn’t go roaming soon again if she found 
it out.” 

“Tricksy! Tricksy!” exclaimed little Gipsy 
Jane, in a tone so full of entreaty and deter- 
mination that the young woman stared in 
surprise, “ I was eight years old last week, 
and I can’t stay always in the woods, and 
never see a bit of the world.” She added 
suddenly: 

“ I want to walk down the road to-morrow 
night, and, if you’ll help me go, and get me 
back again after about an hour, so Granny 
Bekka won’t think I’ve been roaming all 
alone. I’ll give you a yard of yellow satin 
ribbon that Timmins gave me yesterday.” 

“ All right,” said Tricksy, smiling and nod- 
ding gaily, “ I’ll get you gone and get you 
come again, and Mother Rebekah not a bit 
anxious. Now you see if I don’t, you little 
gipsy gip.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE DANCE 

Like most other gipsies, Tricksy was sly. 
She looked dull and only half interested the 
next evening, as she asked, carelessly: 

“ Want to skipper through the woods a bit. 
Miss Gipsy Gip? ” 

Little Gipsy Jane had been very gay that 
afternoon. Telling Mother Rebekah she was 
trying a new step, she dressed herself in the 
scarlet skirt, with its trimmings of tinsel and 
dangling fringes, her velvet waist covered 
with iridescent beads, and her tinkling arm- 
lets of make-believe silver and gold, with pen- 
dant balls galore. On her feet were the 
precious patent leather shoes, while twined 
about her tambourine was the scarlet ribbon 
Ajax had bought for her. Fastened in her 

69 


70 


GIPSY JANE 


hair was the knot of yellow ribbon, also the 
gift of the gipsy chief. 

Flying along in front of Granny Bekka, 
as she sat on the grass weaving baskets, the 
child made of herself a mere glancing shadow 
of whisking colors, as high above her head 
rattled the tinkling jingle of the gaily decked 
tambourine. 

“ Ah, Ma-belle, you are Granny’s little 
dancing jewel; you are, child, and no mis- 
take!” cried the proud old grandame, as, 
flushed and rosy, cunning and graceful, the 
little gipsy suddenly plumped down on the 
grass at Granny Bekka’s feet. 

“ One of these days,” continued the old 
mother, nodding her head in promising fash- 
ion, “ you shall go with Granny, and show 
some others how you can dance and play. 
Keep at it, Ma-belle. Granny knows where 
there’ll be a pile of money coming out at the 
ends of you little fingers and toes. Just you 
trip it lively, and shake the tambourine a bit 
longer.” 



“ A CHILD WAS SKIPPING ALONG IN HIS DIRECTION 



THE DANCE 


71 


This speech gave little Gipsy Jane an op- 
portunity to ask for something that was on 
her mind. Ever since the young man with 
the violin had told her about the wonderful 
concert, she had been puzzling her curly head 
to know how she could possibly get money 
with which to “ go across the railroad.” Be- 
cause, even if she had to run away, nothing 
would satisfy her now short of hearing that 
amazing music. 

‘‘Just a little once,” she told herself, she 
must go to the great city, no matter if it 
was Sodom and Gomorrah. Tricksy lived 
through a trip there, and came back fairly 
loaded with glittering finery. Why could she 
not try it, too? So now she said, with a half- 
injured look from her drooping eyes: 

“You never give me a silver or a copper 
piece. Granny Bekka. I wish you would. 
I want to put something in the little purse 
made of links that Huldah gave me long ago.” 

Mother Rebekah’s black eyes snapped, and 


72 


GIPSY JANE 


her beaky nose seemed to uprear itself and 
give a look of suspicion to her entire face. 

“ What for would you want money, child? ” 
she asked. “ There would be no way to spend 
it. If there’s anything you want, tell Granny 
and perhaps she will get it for you.” 

“ No,” said the little gipsy, who all at once 
seemed bent on having just what she had 
asked for. “ I want some silver money. If 
Timmins comes again — ” 

“ He won’t come for six weeks sure,” inter- 
rupted Granny Bekka. “ They say he was 
here day before yes’day, and look at the fine 
ribbons Ajax was getting you. Oh, fie, Ma- 
belle! to be wanting things from the peddler 
so soon again.” 

“ It isn’t more ribbons I want. Granny 
Bekka. Timmins has no cakes, no candy, no 
peanuts, or sugared corn. There might come 
some other peddler, and I’m old enough to 
buy sugar sweets for my own self.” 

Here was something new. Little Gipsy 
Jane, sweet-faced, sweet-tempered, almost 


THE DANCE 73 

pouting because she wanted money of her 
own. 

Then into the curly head came the idea 
that she must not entirely deceive Granny 
Bekka. The little gipsy’s next remark gave 
Mother Rebekah a great start. 

“ I suppose I might be getting silver 
enough without asking you, Granny Bekka, 
if I could go out into the world and dance 
before others.” 

Granny had said only a moment ago she 
might perhaps dance before others some day. 
Now the child had repeated the remark, 
“ others ” always meaning people outside of 
the gipsy camp. 

Mother Rebekah let the straw she was 
weaving fall into her lap. 

“What’s this I hear, young child?” she 
asked, in her deepest tones, — the tones in 
which she always spoke of “ plagues ” and 
“ judgments ” and “ the evil spirits of the 
air.” “ What’s this I hear? How far do you 
expect you could get without you Granny 


74 


GIPSY JANE 


along, before you feet would wander into 
strange pafs where Granny Bekka could not 
find you, and where no Granny could you 
find? Beware, Ma-belle! Remember how 
some of our tribes have wandered and wan- 
dered, seeking rest and finding none. Never 
dare to wander from the woods, Ma-belle. 
How often has Granny warned you?” 

“ I might wander back again,” said little 
Gipsy Jane. 

Mother Rebekah put on her most mysteri- 
ous, prophet-like face. 

“Hear her!” she cried, “hear her! The 
time has come when Mother Rebekah’s young 
child, the little Ma-belle, answers back! 
When she dares to speak of roaming beyond 
the camp and tribe, running into the outer 
darkness of the world! What shall be done? 
What shall be done?” 

“ Better give me some silver,” said the 
young gipsy, feeling for the first time that 
Granny Bekka’s mystic speech did not take 
hold of her. 


THE DANCE 


7S 


And if I give you silver? ” asked the old 
dame, a sudden fear coming over her that it 
might be a mistake to cross the determined 
child. 

“ I will be quiet,” said the little gipsy. 
Mother Rebekah got slowly up, not be- 
cause of age, but because of an uneasiness in 
her heart at the set look of that pretty little 
face when her young child ” insisted on 
having what she all at once wanted. 

“ ril give you silver, Ma-belle, a little store 
of it,” she said, “ but remember all Granny 
Bekka has done for you. You must love you 
Granny, and stay with her until she bids you 
go.” 

“ I do love you! ” cried little Gipsy Jane, 
and I shall stay with you, even if I some- 
times go out and see the world.” 

Mother Rebekah muttered, peeped around, 
looked upward at the heavens, and stamped 
her foot. “The world!” she said, in a low, 
hushed voice; “the world! The good God 


76 


GIPSY JANE 


grant to keep my little Ma-belle unspotted 
from the world! ” 

She went into her tent, and was gone so 
long that the gipsy child began to be impa- 
tient. Then out she came, walking with a 
stately air, and handed the child a paper roll. 
In it were twenty shining ten-cent pieces. 

“ Granny Bekka told many a fortune for 
all that money, Ma-belle,” she said, “ and it 
must last you a long, long time. Sugar sweets 
are not good for a young child’s teeth, and 
there will be no more silver to spare for a 
long, long time.” 

The little girl thanked her grandmamma 
for the silver, but somehow felt no regrets 
as to the use she meant to make of it. She 
was so anxious to get out of the woods to see 
the city, but most of all to hear the beautiful 
music, that she did not stop to ask or to think 
whether she was doing anything very wrong. 

Mother Rebekah’s teachings had been 
queer and mystic, seeming at most times only 
half real. Now the stories of the frogs, the 


THE DANCE 


77 


locusts, and the sudden darkness were easily 
swept into the background, as a very real 
want of the child’s nature arose strongly 
within her. 

So when the stars had appeared, and it was 
growing dusky in the woods, and Tricksy 
said, listlessly, “ Want to skipper through the 
woods a bit. Miss Gipsy Gip? ” off ran little 
Gipsy Jane, Mother Rebekah paying no heed 
as long as Tricksy was with her. 

“ I want to run out into the road a little 
while,” said the child, when they had walked 
out of sight. “I’ll come back in an hour; 
I sha’n’t run away.” 

“ All right,” said Tricksy, who thought the 
little gipsy had been taken with a harmless 
notion that wouldn’t hurt any one. “ I’m to 
go to a farmhouse for a lot of eggs; be on 
hand now in an hour. Be careful, Gip. 
What made you bring your tambourine? Oh, 
and my gracious! you’ve got your best shoes 
on!” 

“ I sha’n’t lose my tambourine, nor spoil 


78 


GIPSY JANE 


my shoes, Tricksy. Good-by, I’ll know by 
the stars when an hour has gone by.” 

Tricksy went one way and the child an- 
other. The young gipsy woman, who hadn’t 
much mind anyway, was not greatly troubled 
in conscience at what she had done. How 
could she be disobeying when Mother Re- 
bekah had never bade her keep the child from 
the road? She knew well enough that 
Mother Rebekah wanted her Ma-belle kept 
strictly to the woods, but, with shallow reason- 
ing, Tricksy said to herself that little Gip was 
a good little thing, and wouldn’t get into any 
mischief whatever she did. 

The young violinist was waiting outside 
the barn when the gipsy child ran across the 
road. His grave face took on an amused look, 
as little Gipsy Jane, in all the glory of her 
gaudiest attire, flashed before him. 

“Bravo! bravo!” he exclaimed, softly. 
“You are fine! You are fine! Now I’ll see 
you dance.” 

For some reason the gipsy child was anx- 


THE DANCE 79 

ious to do her best. Some instinct told her 
that this player of the tasteful, exquisite touch 
would have correct judgment in other mat- 
ters. And then, under the breast of her gay 
velvet waist lurked a kind of belief that this 
sober “ creature of the world ” could in some 
way help her to hear the splendid concert if 
he chose. 

On her little bed of straw at night she had 
lain awake and imagined herself so charming 
him with her dancing, her music, and her 
wild chorus, that he had exclaimed: “Ah! 
ah! it is to ze concert you must go, and hear 
ze sixty men all playing at once. You must! 
You must!” 

The young “ violin ” seated himself on a 
stray end of an old bench, while little Gipsy 
Jane found a smooth place for dancing. This 
found, she poised for an instant on the tips 
of her shining toes, the tambourine held ac- 
cording to Granny Bekka’s instructions high 
above her head and off to the right. 

She hung like a butterfly on the edge of a 


8o 


GIPSY JANE 


leaf for one brief moment, then, with a series 
of raps and shakes at the drum and the bells 
of her tambourine, off she glided, the very 
picture of a many-hued, fluttering bird. 
Round and round she whirled, the knocking 
and the ringing, the flying feet, and whisking 
flashes of color making a fascinating picture 
of lightness and grace. 

She did not soon stop to rest. As if intox- 
icated with the mad ringing of the bells and 
the straight ribbons floating out from her tam- 
bourine, she danced to and fro, up and down, 
whirled around in circles, and finally burst 
into a clear, childish treble: 

“ Tra-la ! Tra-la ! Hi-ho ! Hi-ho ! ” 

repeating the words several times as usual, 
until the quiet air seemed fairly alive and 
ringing with the rattle and the boom of the 
tambourine and the echoes of the little gipsy’s 
voice. 

When, at last, after a wonderful twirl, tak- 
ing in the “ new step,” she suddenly flung her- 


THE DANCE 


self upon the ground, the stillness seemed 
strange and unnatural. 

Then a pair of robins that had been abed 
for a couple of hours all at once sent forth 
their beautiful notes of cheer. 

“ I don’t wonder you wake ze birds and set 
them a-singing,” said the sober lad. 

Little Gipsy Jane had felt a sharp little 
twinge of disappointment. So used had she 
become to Granny Bekka’s prompt, loud 
words of praise that this young fellow’s si- 
lence, as she dropped to the ground, had 
rather surprised her. 

She was too young to know that a deep, fine 
nature is slow in expressing itself, and she 
feared her dancing had not pleased the young 
“ violin.” 

Her gray eyes drooped, and she was won- 
dering how she could ask him if he was not 
pleased at all, when he said, quietly: 

You should dance before ze great crowd 
some day, and hear them clap you and clap 
you.” 


82 


GIPSY JANE 


“ Oh, do you think that folks in the great 
world would like my dancing? ” cried the 
delighted child, her hands fluttering and all 
the bangles set a-jingle. 

“ I think it would make them crazee,’’ said 
the tall, sober lad. 

This gave the little gipsy courage to ask a 
question. 

“ How could I get to hear the great con- 
cert? ” 

Then her poor little heart fluttered like a 
frightened bird’s at having dared to ask such 
a thing. 

“ Is there no one to take you?” asked the 
“ violin.” 

‘‘ No, oh, no! Granny Bekka has never let 
me go anywhere. I never saw the city. I 
never heard fine music until I heard you play. 
Now I must hear the concert some way. I 
shall hear it! ” 

The young man glanced at the strange 
dress. “ You have a wrap, a sack? ” he asked. 

No, but there is a mantle I wear.” 


THE DANCE 


83 


“ And you have a hat? ” 

“ No, but Granny Bekka bought me a fine 
kercher I wear on my head.” 

“ You couldn’t wear that to ze city. Ze 
people laugh.” 

“ It’s all I’ve got,” said the little gipsy, with 
drooping eyes. 

A new idea seemed to strike the violin 
player. 

“ Some girls go without a hat, wear ze bare 
head.” 

Oh, I can do that!” cried little Gipsy 
Jane. “And may I follow you to the city, 
and follow you back? I’ll keep behind, so no 
one will think you are my father. Do let me 
go. I may get lost if I go all by my own self.” 

The young man looked more sober than 
ever. 

“ Ze concert comes in ze afternoon,” he 
said, “ so you could get back before it is very 
dark. If your folks say that you can go, I 
will let you go with me. I can give you a 


84 


GIPSY JANE 


ticket, and a man will show you where to sit. 
It will have to be pretty high up.” 

“High up? What, in the trees?” asked 
the gipsy. 

The young violinist had no idea of the 
ignorance of the gipsy child about many mat- 
ters; houses and music-halls were places ut- 
terly unknown to her. But he had said one 
thing that she must tell the truth about. 

“ I don’t care how far I go, nor how high 
up I have to sit when I get there,” she said, 
“ but I can’t ask Granny Bekka to let me go; 
she never would, then all my pleasure would 
be gone.” 

“ Can’t you ask some one else? ” 

The gipsy maid had not thought of that. 

“ I’ll try,” she said. “ Oh, and I have some 
money to pay on the railroad; it is my own.” 

“ Then come to-morrow soon as the clock 
strikes one.” 

“What is your name?” innocently asked 
the child. 

“ It is Karl. You can call me Karl. Come 


THE DANCE 85 

to-morrow, and you can follow on. I think 
you ought to hear fine music.” 

“ Yes, ril come to-morrow, Karl, and I’ll 
follow on.” 


CHAPTER VIL 


THE MUSIC - HALL 

It was in less than an hour that little Gipsy 
Jane started back for the camp. In the dis- 
tance, she saw a woman coming across the 
fields, and she hoped it was Tricksy. It was 
Tricksy, and the gipsy woman praised the 
child for not staying too long. 

“ Most young ones as gets their first chance 
at an extra peep outside would ’a’ stayed over 
time,”' she said, “but you’s one of the good 
sort. I should think Mother Rebekah might 
let you ofi now and then. Perhaps she would 
if you asked her.” 

“ No, no,” said the child; “ Granny Bekka 
is afraid to let me stir out of the woods. But, 
Tricksy,” little Gipsy Jane spoke coaxingly, 

“ I want dre’df’ly to go roaming a little while 
86 


THE MUSIC - HALL 87 

to-morrow afternoon; won’t you say I may 
go?” 

^‘No, indeed, Gip, I dassent! I let you 
come to-night because it didn’t seem wrong, 
and Mother Rebekah never said I must not 
let you out of the woods. But I can’t say 
you could run off in the daylight, and no one 
with you.” 

“ But I must go,” persisted the little gipsy, 
“ and I must have some one say I may.” 

“ Perhaps Moses would give you leave,” 
ventured Tricksy. “ I don’t think Ajax 
would.” 

“ Nor I wouldn’t ask Ajax,” said the know- 
ing child. He never would say yes. I’ll 
ask Moses.” 

The next morning, while Moses was pol- 
ishing up the hand-organ, little Gipsy Jane 
surprised him by asking if she might roam 
off by herself after the noon hour. 

Ask Mother Rebekah,” was the prompt 
reply. I’ve got no right to say you may go 
or stay. Do you think I’d run my paw in 


GIPSY JANE 


the lion’s mouth by saying things beyond 
me?” 

The gipsy child knew that “ the lion’s 
mouth ” meant some of the ills or dangers 
that Granny Bekka muttered about, and that 
Moses, great, grown-up Moses, was afraid of. 
But she must get around him somehow. 

“You’d be willing I should go, wouldn’t 
you, Moses?” she asked. 

“ For certain I would if them as has the 
right to give you leave said you might go. 
Of course I’d be willing.” 

Well, it wasn’t what she wanted. Still, 
Moses had said he was willing she should run 
off a little while if she wanted to, and she must 
make that do. 

“What did Moses say?” asked Tricksy, as 
she washed potatoes, getting them ready to be 
baked in the oven. 

“ He said he was willing, but he didn’t 
quite dare to say I might,” and the gray eyes 
drooped with a disappointed air. 

“ Oh, well,” said easy-going, good-natured 


THE MUSIC - HALL 


89 


Tricksy, “ if Moses said he was willing, that’s 
enough. I’m willing, too, and I’ll keep 
Mother Rebekah talking, so she won’t notice, 
and you better slip off spry, but mind you’re 
back before dark, or the whole camp may be 
ordered out to search for you.” 

So, after her simple dinner, away ran little 
Gipsy Jane in her best shoes, her gay dress, 
and a striped mantle over her shoulders. She 
had brushed and brushed her hair until it 
curled beautifully, and Tricksy herself tied 
the yellow ribbon in among the purple-black 
ripples, so that it was a very beautiful and 
bright-looking child that went swiftly 
through the woods, across the fields, down 
to the cross-roads, and over to the great barn. 

Karl was waiting for her, and dressed so 
astonishingly in the eyes of the gipsy child 
that she could only repeat his words to her: 

“Oh, you are fine! You are fine!” 

Karl’s great, earnest eyes lighted up. 
“ They’ll all be fine at ze concert,” he said. 
“I call this a Mress suit;’ it cost much 


90 


GIPS r JANE 


money, and I must be very careful of it. A 
kind man helped me get it. I am poor, and 
must get money with my violin. Kind people 
have help me, or I could not have got on 
with my music. It costs much to learn ze 
violin, but my teacher is kind, oh, very!” 

The gipsy child was surprised that Karl’s 
clothes should have “ cost much money.” She 
knew he looked fine and like a gentleman 
in them, but then, they were so plain! No 
bright colors, no sash, such as Ajax and Moses 
wore when they were dressed up, no great 
breastpin, no flashy tints in his necktie. 

Dear, dear, how much she had to learn! 

But she had a habit of noticing what any 
one said, — a very good habit, too, acquired, 
no doubt, by listening, as she always did, to 
Granny Bekka’s stories, and paying attention 
to them, as she felt she must. And so she 
had noticed that Karl said a man had been 
kind to him, and that his teacher was very 
kind. 

“Are most folks in the world kind?” she 


THE MUSIC - HALL 91 

asked. “ Granny Bekka thinks the world is 
a wicked place, and that the people are 
wicked, too, those who are not gipsies.’’ 

Karl looked at her as if she was a lesson 
he was trying to learn. She was trotting by 
his side on the way to the station, cute, eager, 
different from any child he had ever seen 
before. It seemed a pleasure to the sober 
young fellow to hear her simple talk. His 
whole soul was steeped in love of the music 
that was his life-work, and yet it did him 
good to meet and care for this strange, inno- 
cent little gipsy. 

Fie spoke slowly, and at times his excellent 
English was not quite complete. 

“ There are good people in ze world, many, 
and there are bad ones. But, yes, there are 
kind, kind men, who help ze people that need 
help. I love kind people; I love them so 
very, that I want to be kind myself. It is 
ze kind people that make folks happy. I 
want to be kind, yes. That is why I want 
you to hear ze splendid music. It will make 


92 


GIPSY JANE 


you happy. You have ze music all in you. 
I heard it in your tambourine. I think you 
should hear fine music. It will make you 
good.” 

He paused a moment, then went soberly 
on: 

“ I was a poor boy. My father die. My 
mudder die. My father first taught me ze 
music. He was ^ first violin ’ in ze North 
Italian Band. When he died, his kind 
friend, who heard me play, gave me money 
to come to America, and sent me to my 
teacher, a fine ‘ violin,’ who gives me lessons 
for small pay. I work on a farm, but practise 
all ze time I can get. To-day, I play at ze 
big concert. Soon I may play in ze orchestra, 
then I can teach ze violin and get money for 
myself.” 

“ Do you like work on the farm?” asked 
the little gipsy. 

“ No, I like it not. But I must work some- 
where, and ze good farm-man lets me have all 
my evenings for practice. I cannot dig or 


THE MUSIC - HALL 


93 


plant; it makes my fingers too stiff for prac- 
tising, but I tend ze horses and cattle, and do 
much driving and many errands. Then I get 
just money enough to buy a few clothes and 
pay my good teacher. Here we are at ze 
station.” 

From that on, little Gipsy Jane had no eyes 
or ears for anything but the new sights and 
sounds on every hand. Her movings about 
with the tribe had been chiefly at night, and, 
although she had caught glimpses of strange 
faces, and had dimly seen houses and build- 
ings, she never remembered a journey except 
in a gipsy’s wagon, or on her own little 
feet. 

And now she was to ride in the steam-cars. 
When they got fairly under way, rattling past 
fields, across bridges, into towns, off and away 
with a whiz, whiz, whiz, she finally clutched 
at Karl’s sleeve, and asked, her gray eyes 
stretched to their widest extent: 

It isn’t running away, is it? The railroad 
isn’t running away? ” 


94 


GIPSY JANE 


“ We are all right,” said Karl. “ Does it 
frighten you? ” 

He spoke with gentle kindness, and edged 
a little nearer to the pretty child, whose little 
brown face had paled somewhat at the rush 
and strangeness of it all. 

“ I didn’t know about the railroad,” she 
said, “ and it made me think of Sodom and 
Gomorrah.” 

Then sidling up to the sober, quiet young 
man, who she felt in her little heart was kind, 
she said, with the simple confidence of a baby: 

‘‘Oh, Karl, you are so beautiful kind!” 

“I like to hear you say that, oh, veryl” 
Karl replied. 

The ride on the railroad was not a long one, 
but after that they crossed on a ferry-boat, 
and the gipsy child was perfectly delighted 
with the sail. She stood outside all the way 
over, finding the ten minutes all too short, and 
declaring she was not a bit cold. It was now 
September, and Karl had a light overcoat 


THE MUSIC - HALL 95 

over his nice suit. He carried his violin in 
its case in his hand. 

In the city, little Gipsy Jane would have 
been completely bewildered and very much 
frightened had not Karl been at her side, 
seeming perfectly at home midst all the hub- 
bub. On the cars and the ferry-boat people 
had stared openly at the beautiful child with 
the striped mantle over her shoulders, and 
with yellow ribbon wound in her little mid- 
night curls. 

But in the great teeming city, it was seldom 
any one noticed her, until they turned into a 
broad street, where her eagerness made one 
and another turn and look at her again. For 
how charming! Here were showy carriages 
with drivers in elegant clothes, gay horses 
with glittering harnesses, beautifully dressed 
ladies and children, and, finest of all, store 
windows filled with such a variety of pretty 
and wonderful things that the gipsy child 
stopped short several times to gaze at and 
admire them. 


96 


GIPSY JANE 


“You won’t get tired walking?” asked 
Karl. “ I would pay for rides, but my money 
so little.” 

“ Oh, I could walk in the world all day! ” 
cried the little gipsy. “ I wouldn’t ride past 
all these shows for anything.” 

At length a great building was reached, 
high and splendid in the little gipsy’s eyes, 
with broad steps and a broader entrance, and 
with ladies and gentlemen pouring in, such a 
crowd of them, that the gipsy child again 
clung to Karl’s side. 

“ Now,” he said, “ I must give your ticket 
to a man, who will show you where to sit. 
Don’t he frightened ; ze man is kind who will 
give you a seat, and all ze people round you 
will be kind. Listen to ze music. I will look 
up at you after I play. But stay right in ze 
seat after ze concert is over, until I come for 
you. Don’t try to get out alone, or you will 
surely he lost.” 

“ I won’t move till you come,” said the 
child, but she really was a little frightened. 


THE MUSIC - HALL 


97 


for one reason because the people looked at 
her so, and then she did not like to think of 
being separated from Karl. But he had ex- 
plained to her on the way that he would have 
to stay in a side room off from the stage until 
it came his time to play, and that she must 
sit by herself during the concert. So she was 
not surprised. 

She followed, with sweet gray eyes full of 
curiosity, as a young man to whom Karl had 
spoken a few earnest words led her up a flight 
of marble stairs, then up another flight, and 
she entered, oh, such a place! 

Was it to be wondered at that she caught 
her breath and pressed her little brown hands 
hard on her breast? Never had she even 
faintly imagined such a place. Not exactly a 
house, but a music-hall, high and grand, with 
glistening white pillars holding up wide gal- 
leries, and gilded cherubs looking down from 
different heights. 

Then the gaily dressed people! Ladies 
with elegant wraps thrown back, showing 


98 


GIPSY JANE 


many kinds of rich, fanciful gowns, and some 
wearing bonnets covered with flowers, laces, 
or birds. A few wore no bonnets at all, but 
had their hair beautifully puffed, crimped, 
or rolled, with flowers, bows, or feathers 
standing high and stately on their lovely 
heads. Some carried bouquets, many had 
flowers worn at the belt. Many of the gentle- 
men were dressed as Karl was, all in fine 
“ black and white,” the child thought. 

People were chatting, laughing, and nod- 
ding, and little Gipsy Jane began to feel less 
timid, and as if she had reached some fairy- 
land, when the young man stopped at a long 
row of seats, then led her to one in the middle. 
She was in the second gallery or balcony, 
right opposite the platform, where several of 
the players were already seated. Some were 
strumming on instruments in low tones, tun- 
ing violins and trying them, to make sure they 
were at the right pitch. 

As the little gipsy seated herself, a lady 
next her looked down at her remarkable little 


THE MUSIC - HALL 


99 


seat-mate, and smiled broadly. The gipsy 
child smiled back. 

How did you get here, little one? ” asked 
the lady. 

“ I came with Karl,” said the child. “ Karl 
is going to play,” she added, proudly. 

“ Ah, I see. You must be a little Italian 
girl, I think,” and the lady could not keep 
a smile out of her eyes, as she glanced at the 
queerly bedecked little figure, the beaded 
waist, tinselled, fringed skirt, and little old- 
fashioned mantle. 

“ No, Karl is Italian, but I — ” 

The child was stopped by a great clapping 
of hands. The conductor had come in, and, 
mounting the box from which he was to lead 
the orchestra, he bowed low, while the multi- 
tude of people clapped and clapped, the 
ladies smiled, their laces fluttered, a few 
waved their delicate handkerchiefs, the lights, 
dim before, sprang into a broad glare, jewels 

flashed, the whole place shone. No, never 
Lof C. 


TOO 


GIPSY JANE 


in her wildest dreams had such a picture ever 
presented itself to little Gipsy Jane. 

“ Oh, oh, it is the Garden of Eden come 
back!” she thought; “there’s no sin here, 
no serpent. Frogs never heard of this place, 
locusts couldn’t get in, and darkness! dark- 
ness would be put out by these lights. Yes, 
it is the Garden of Eden. Oh, the pretty 
ladies, the fine men, the splendid, splendid 
place! Is it Eden? ” 

“ It may be the Temple of Solomon,” she 
thought again, as all at once a recollection 
of one of Granny Bekka’s descriptions flashed 
into her mind. 

There was a sudden hush. The gipsy child 
was full of wonder. “ My, how awful still! ” 
she thought. “ I wonder what is going to 
happen next. The tall man on the box is 
holding up a stick. Is he going to strike some 
one. There, now the stick is coming slowly 
down again.” 


CHAPTER VIIL 


THE CONCERT 

Midst the stillness there sounded the call 
of a thin, sweet note. It was from a French 
horn. 

Little Gipsy Jane, with eyes stretched wide 
to see everything, knew that the clear call 
came from a bright brass instrument that one 
of the players held to his mouth. 

It was answered by a low, deep moan, com- 
ing from what was called the chello.” Then 
came another call and another reply. Then 
there crept a ripple of light trills, running 
into the slow, beautiful calls of the horn and 
the cello. 

“ Oh, here come the butterflies,” thought 
the little gipsy, her sharp imagination leaping 
up. 

lOI 


102 GIPSY JANE 

The trills ran into a kind of warbling from 
several violins. “Yes, and in fly the birds,” 
she thought. 

The sweet low notes full of trills, butterflies, 
and birds flowed on for a moment or two, 
then from a trombone came a long, powerful 
blast, that swelled the music from the violins, 
the horns and the cellos, until a great wave of 
melody rose and rose, when there came a 
crash from the cymbals, and suddenly all was 
quiet as the forest at night. 

The crash and the silence made the little 
gipsy jump. She looked up into the lady’s 
face and smiled. 

“Oh, I wish they would do that again!” 
she whispered. “ That was the mostest thing 
I ever heard! ” 

She meant it was the grandest, but did not 
know how to say it. The lady looked at the 
pleased, enchanted little face, and asked her- 
self what the child would think when the 
whole great orchestra was going full blast. 


THE CONCERT 103 

for as yet only a few of the instruments had 
been used. 

But now there came a mixed, sweet melody, 
as a trumpet held its loud, clear notes above 
the sighing, the rippling, and the wailing of 
the violins. The music was so full of charm 
that the little gipsy in the balcony listened, 
forgetful of everything but just the beautiful 
sounds that were filling her soul with delight. 

She scarcely noticed that the music swelled 
and grew fuller and fuller, that more instru- 
ments were gradually coming in, adding to 
the grand roll of the music, but she felt, after 
awhile, that the sound was increasing. 

She noticed the quick action of the violins, 
and that nearly all were playing, and she saw 
that the great brass pieces at the back of the 
platform were sending forth whole volumes 
of sound; she felt the vibrant strains from 
instruments queer in shape, that she did not 
know the names of. 

The music grew louder and louder, power- 
ful yet harmonious, and working up to some- 


104 


GIPSY JANE 


thing she could neither imagine nor under- 
stand. Yet, as the great chorus rolled on, 
stately, majestic, it set her acute fancy work- 
ing as usual. 

She leaned forward, clutched the back of 
the chair in front of her, and peered with 
eager eyes at the performers. More than one 
lady and gentleman, more used to the ravish- 
ing sounds, looked at her and thought: 

Poor little thing, she is so carried away 
that she scarcely knows where she is. She 
looks as though she were soaring into another 
world.” 

She was almost. Imagination, as it was 
so likely to do, was carrying her back to the 
storied land of Egypt, lending golden gleams 
of fancy to Granny Bekka’s lofty picturings 
and high-flown language. 

As drums came rolling and booming into 
high, splendid passages of the music, cellos 
moaned, cymbals clashed, horns and trumpets, 
cornets and trombones sent forth mighty 
strains, and thirty violins sang, warbled, and 


THE CONCERT 105 

complained, the gipsy child fairly gasped and 
trembled with excitement. 

She really pinched the chair before her; 
her eyes grew bright as stars as she drank in 
the glorious chorus, and, never heeding who 
saw her moving lips, she whispered to herself : 

“ Oh, oh, it must be the call of the Lord 
of Hosts! He is calling the tribes to appear 
before Him, and up they come, singing and 
shouting and playing on instruments. All 
the stars are singing, and all the earth is mak- 
ing music before the Lord.” 

Her strong fancy ran on: 

“ The chariots of Pharaoh are rolling up, 
and all the singing men and the singing 
women are there. The thunder is crashing, 
too, just as it used to when the tribes went up 
to the mountains, and the great Lord of Hosts 
spoke. Oh, it is mighty! Mighty is the Lord 
of Hosts!” 

The end was coming, and the powerful 
swell and echo, the crash and boom of every 
instrument was ringing and rolling through 


Io6 GIPSY JANE 

the great building, as the little gipsy, half- 
stunned and fairly carried out of herself, 
whispered again: 

“ I think the end of the world is near. I 
think the Temple may fall in ruins.” 

She gathered herself up, and, as the last 
resounding chords of the symphony filled the 
hall, the child gave a sobbing sigh that shook 
her little frame from the curly ripples on her 
forehead to the precious patent leather shoes 
upon her little feet. 

The lady beside her looked down with a 
soft pity in her eyes, and she patted the child’s 
little arm kindly, as she said: 

“ Well, it was almost too much for you, 
wasn’t it, dear? ” 

The little girl had sat back as if exhausted, 
but, at the lady’s words, she started up and 
said: 

“ I liked it! I liked it better than anything 
there ever was before. But I didn’t know 
what might come.” 

She quivered with another little sob, al- 


THE CONCERT 


107 


though there were no tears in her starry eyes, 
and the lady, who held a little paper in her 
hand, telling what was to be played, said: 

“ The next piece will not be quite so loud, 
and you may like it better.” 

“ No, no; I wish I could hear that all right 
over again,” said the child. “ I only didn’t 
know what it might do, and I didn’t know as 
it could stop. It only made me — too happy, 
that was all.” 

The next selection, full of rare melody, was 
just as great a charm and delight to the little 
gipsy child, as the first had been, and she 
probably really enjoyed it more, from having 
become a little accustomed to the unusual 
grandeur of the music. She listened with an 
air of such rapt contentment and pleasure 
that a young lady at her other side whispered 
to a friend: 

Did you ever see a more perfect little face 
in your life? and so completely enraptured. 
Too .bad she should be tricked out so like a 
little savage.” 


io8 


GIPSY JANE 


Yes, there was something barbaric in little 
Gipsy Jane’s cheap dress and showy colors, 
the bangles, the tinsel, and the fringe. But 
never mind. She knew nothing about the 
nice ideas of people who lived in fine houses, 
wore the right kind of clothes, and knew all 
about the high and better things in life. No, 
never mind at present, because just now the 
gipsy child was perfectly happy, and she was 
saying in her pure little mind: 

“ This is the way I shall feel in Glory 
Land.” “ Glory Land ” was another name 
for Heaven to little Gipsy Jane. “ It will be 
a great and splendid temple, where the fairies 
will dance, the good spirits will sing, every 
one will look lovely, and be happy as gold. 
Oh, what’s that? ” 

The child slipped to her feet in wonder. 
A note from a triangle was breaking in, clear 
and silvery, and made the ripple of a dance 
tune ringingly beautiful to her ear. 

Where is the bell? ” she asked the lady. 


THE CONCERT 


109 


“ Do you see the man off at the side, strik- 
ing that queer, three-cornered affair? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said the little girl, “ and it 
makes the beautiful bell. It’s like Heaven, 
isn’t it? ” 

“ I think you should hear music often,” said 
the lady. 

“ I’m going to. I am, I’m going to! ” and 
there was such a look of fixed determination 
on the young face that the lady smiled with 
amusement. 

Then there was a great clapping of hands 
again, as the second piece was finished, as 
there had been after the first. 

There was a murmur of voices, as people 
moved about a little to rest themselves, then 
soon the conductor mounted the box, and it 
grew very still. 

Suddenly there was a brisk clapping, and, 
as there was no music, little Gipsy Jane leaned 
forward to see what the clapping meant. 

There stood Karl bowing low, his violin 


no 


GIPSY JANE 


and bow held in one hand. The child flut- 
tered and smiled. 

“ That’s Karl,” she said to the lady, her 
cheeks full of dimples and her gray eyes full 
of simple pride. 

“ Is he your brother? ” asked the lady. 

“ No, but he plays for me, and is kind. : 
dance for Karl. I came here with him. Karl 
is good.” 

Karl did not begin to play with the rest. 
While a part of the orchestra began a slow, 
sweet melody, he stood grave and motionless, 
looking over the sea of faces before him. 

“ He looks holy,” thought the child. “ He 
looks like a fine, dark prince. He looks as 
though he had come up to play before the 
Lord of Hosts.” 

Then the orchestra died down, Karl rested 
his beloved violin under his chin, drew a long, 
sobbing note across the strings, and the people 
were quiet as images as he drew forth the 
wailing music that little Gipsy Jane had al- 
ready learned to love. 


THE CONCERT 


III 


“ I think the whole world is mourning over 
something, and Karl is telling it on his vio- 
lin,” she thought. 

Then he drew a swift bow and broke into a 
lighter strain, the other violins came in with 
humming, whispering notes; high above 
them all rose the bird-calls, the trills, and 
merry snatches of song from the tall lad’s 
violin. The music rose and swelled, Karl’s 
violin leading all the rest. The measure be- 
came swifter. The young Italian’s head 
would nod suddenly with the vigor with 
which he would master a swift, strong pas- 
sage. At length, with a full flood of melody, 
it all came to an end. 

Little Gipsy Jane’s quick ear caught the 
call of “ Bravo! bravo!” from a few of the 
men on the stage, which in the Italian tongue 
means “ bravely done.” 

And there was Karl, sober, calm, bowing 
like a young lord, while people clapped and 
clapped, as though they never meant to stop. 


II2 


GIPSY JANE 


The child was greatly puzzled at what fol- 
lowed. 

Three times Karl came with his violin, and 
merely bowed and bowed to the audience 
that did not stop clapping. Once he looked 
right up at her. 

“ They are bound to make him play again,” 
said the lady, “ and I don’t wonder. He is a 
young master of the violin.” 

That explained it, then. The clapping 
meant that they must hear Karl play again. 

A fourth time he came with his violin to 
the stage, and for a moment the clapping was 
louder than ever. 

He played the low, sweet lullaby little 
Gipsy Jane had heard in the barn. But midst 
the high arches of what the child called the 
Temple the notes rose sweet as the sighing of 
a summer wind, and it seemed in some parts 
as if his fingers merely trembled forth the 
drowsy strains. 

The people tried to make him play a third 
time, but no, Karl had finished. 


THE CONCERT 


II3 

There was one more selection, and the won- 
derful concert was over. 

But Karl had told the gipsy child to remain 
where she was until he came for her, and she 
had no thought but to obey. She was willing 
enough, too, to watch the ladies, as they gath- 
ered up their long, beautiful wraps with shin- 
ing linings of silk and satin, and to see the 
men toss the pretty garments over the shoul- 
ders of the ladies, and arrange them as hand- 
ily as though they had taken lessons and 
learned just how. 

And the men looked so nice, with their 
smooth faces and plain, dark clothes. Ah! 
the real richness and taste of quiet but nice 
garments was beginning to tell with the gipsy 
child, who was quick to take things in. 

Then here was Karl, and the child’s face 
was the picture of a sunbeam at his approach. 
His eyes were bright, and, although he did 
not smile readily, yet there certainly was the 
glimmer of a smile on his face, as he asked : 

“ How did you like it? ” 


GIPSY JANE 


1 14 

“Oh, it was Glory Land! Glory Land!” 
cried the child, “ and, Karl, you looked like 
the cherubim when you played, and you know 
the cherubim are angels with wings. And a 
lady said you was a young master of the 
violin.” 

“ So? ” asked Karl, and he actually smiled. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE NEW FORTUNE-TELLER 

All the way back through the crowded 
streets, on the ferry-boat, and in the cars, little 
Gipsy Jane was in a dream. The world was 
simply charming; men and women outside 
the gipsy camp were different beings in most 
respects from those who dwelt in the woods. 
There were splendid things to be seen, splen- 
did things to be heard, and different garments 
to be worn from those of the gipsy tribes. 

“ And really and truly,” she mused, “ they 
are nicer! ” 

Karl, always inclined to be silent, did not 
disturb her. But when the journey was about 
ended, and they had reached the cross-roads, 
the gipsy child said: 


15 


GIPSY JANE 


1 16 

“ I must come to-morrow night, and hear 
you play.” 

“ Yes,” Karl replied, “ you can come and 
listen, but I must keep right on and practise.” 

“ I won’t talk,” said the child, quick to 
catch his meaning. “ Good-by, Karl,” and 
she hurried across the fields, as it was begin- 
ning to get dark. 

The first person she saw when near the 
camp was Tricksy. “ Come,” she said, “ you 
better snap round and get ofi the best clothes. 
Mother Rebekah has been out with her bas- 
kets, but she’s asked twice where you were, and 
I said, ‘ Just roaming around.’ You’re lucky, 
for Mother Rebekah is mixing a spider-cake 
for supper, so, if you’re spry, you can flash 
into the tent and get on you other gown before 
supper.” 

No second hint was needed. She was saun- 
tering about in her common clothes when sup- 
per was ready, and Mother Rebekah asked no 
questions. This pleased her, yet she knew in 
her heart that the time had come when she 


THE NEW FORTUNE-TELLER II7 

could no longer stay quietly in the woods, and 
see no more of the world, — the fair, beauti- 
ful world. 

The next day she told Tricksy she should 
go down the road again at night. 

“There a big, big boy. Tricksy,” she said, 
“ that plays the violin beautifully, and if I 
keep still, he lets me listen. And I must listen. 
Never, never did I hear such splendid music 
as comes from violins, and. Tricksy, I am 
going to hear them whenever I can.” 

Somehow Tricksy understood that the child 
meant what she said. “ How pert set you 
little chin looks!” the young gipsy woman 
exclaimed, with a merry laugh. 

As a rule, gipsies do not use what we call 
“ slang.” They do not talk correctly because 
they are not educated, and know nothing 
about the rules of grammar, but their words 
are generally proper ones, and, as we have 
seen, the older ones like to soar into high- 
sounding language and old-time speech, per- 


V 


GIPSY JANE 


haps thinking, as Mother Rebekah did, that 
it sounds Egyptian-like. 

“ If you’re so set on hearing the playing,” 
said Tricksy, “you better ask Mother Re- 
bekah to let you go and hear it. It’s better 
to have her permission, Gipsy Gip.” 

“ No, no! ” cried the little girl. “ I’m very 
sure. Tricksy, she wouldn’t let me go a step, 
not unless she went with me, and I don’t want 
her to go with me.” 

But, alas! the next night it rained, rained 
so hard that Mother Rebekah kept her little 
pride within the tent, not even allowing her 
to go out and “ sprinkle her feet,” as she 
begged to do. 

The days were getting shorter, the darkness 
coming down a little earlier each afternoon. 
The next night it was still so damp that 
Mother Rebekah again commanded little 
Gipsy Jane to remain inside the tent. 

Then the next day, a famous fortune-teller 
from another tribe of gipsies came to the 
camp, and was to show Mother Rebekah a 


THE NEW FORTUNE - TELLER 1 1 9 

new way of telling fortunes. It really was the 
same old way of tracing the lines inside a per- 
son’s hand, yet the tracings were done in a 
little different way. 

This fortune-teller was a man, and in some 
mysterious way little Gipsy Jane soon under- 
stood that Tricksy liked the looks of the hand- 
some, gaily dressed gipsy, whom she had seen 
before, and had danced with, she said, at a 
gipsy jubilee. 

“ Come, Gip,” she said, “ get Mother Re- 
bekah to ask the fortune-teller to stay to sup- 
per and spend the evening. If you will,” 
she coaxed, “ I’ll get him to say something 
that will help you, I will, honest.” 

If this was artful and tricky in Tricksy, 
you must only remember again that artful- 
ness was a part of her nature, and little Gipsy 
Jane, honest and obedient as she wanted to be, 
did not see any harm in getting Tricksy to 
help her. She was only too glad of the 
chance. 

The camp had its few rules, one being that 


A 

120 .'I GIPSY JANE 

no gipsy from another tribe should be invited 
to “ sit at meat ” except by the mother or the 
chief of a camp. 

So now, the clfild, who was all the time 
full of the desire and determination to see 
more of the world, thought she saw some help 
that Tricksy would bring about, if only she 
could get Granny Bekka to invite “ Rom the 
Rover,” as the new gipsy styled himself, to 
remain in the camp until the end of the 
evening. 

After all, the child did not have to tease 
very hard, for Granny Bekka, who secretly 
enjoyed hearing the merry fellow talk, at once 
went through with some mummery ; she 
counted “ spots ” on her hands, looked up at 
the setting sun, and muttering, “Yes, the 
signs are all right for it,” she gravely invited 
Rom to stay and “ break bread, and to linger 
for the evening hour.” 

Then she said that her grandchild, the be- 
loved Ma-belle, should show him how a little 


THE NEW FORTUNE-TELLER 


I2I 


Romany maid could dance and touch the 
tambourine. 

They had a better supper than usual, Ajax 
bringing out a bottle of maple syrup instead 
of the usual “ treacle ” to eat on the porridge, 
and part of a wild duck left from dinner, 
Huldah warmed up and put by the stranger’s 
thick plate. 

After the supper, little Gipsy Jane arrayed 
herself in her gayest clothes, and danced and 
played in a way to make the new fortune- 
teller show his fine teeth and wag his head 
with delight. 

Meantime, Tricksy, when Mother Re- 
bekah’s head was turned away, watching each 
movement of the agile child, managed to 
whisper for some time to the good-looking 
gipsy, and the dancing child, midst her swift 
twirls, saw Tricksy nod and smile, as much as 
to say, All right, he will help you.” 

After the dance was ended, Rom the Rover 
smiled, rubbed his hands, and said, in a know- 
ing tone : 


122 


GIPSY JANE 


“ I suppose the good mother ” — nodding 
at Mother Rebekah — “ has watched well the 
cross-lines in little missy’s palms.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Mother Rebekah, who did 
not care to have her Ma-belle’s fortune told 
by a stranger. “ I have watched them almost 
from her birth. No one can find anything 
there I have not seen.” 

“Yet a stranger will be quick to see what 
the good mother might miss,” said the gipsy, 
in a firm, yet gentle tone. 

“ Better let Rom the Rover peep at the lit- 
tle palms, and see what the bright future 
brings,” put in Tricksy ; “he seems sure it 
is something pretty good.” 

“Well, well,” said Mother Rebekah, “no 
fortune-teller has crossed the child’s hands 
yet, except her granny, but it may hap some 
good is to come to the little one that I do not 
see. This once I might let you try it.” 

The child went up to him willingly. For 
several minutes the fortune-teller bent over 


THE NEW FORTUNE-TELLER 1 23 

the little brown palms. Then he began in a 
perplexed way : 

“ Good, good, yes, good surely, yet little 
missy must not be held too tight. Little missy 
wants ” — the man looked more closely and 
followed carefully the different creases, as he 
asked, “ Ah, what is it she wants ? She wants 
to go here, to go there, to go this way, to go 
that way. The good mother holds her closely- 
But she must be allowed. 

‘‘ What’s this ? What’s this ? Ah, if lit- 
tle missy is trusted and allowed a little roam- 
ing, all will be well. If she is held back, 
and the good mother says, ^ No, no ! in the 
woods you have lived, in the woods you must 
stay,’ ha ! what do I see ? The Romany 
maid is missing ; she comes not to the camp 
at night, she comes not to the camp by day. 
Better be warned. ! Let the little missy go 
tripping by herself, no harm will come. And 
I see good, good, good ! ” 

He stopped speaking, and the gipsy child 
ran over to Mother Rebekah’s side. 

¥ 


124 


GIPSY JANE 


“ You’d let me go roaming a little if 
I wanted to, wouldn’t you, Granny Bekka? ” 
she asked. 

The old dame’s face had flushed, and she 
looked set and stern of feature, yet she an- 
swered, mildly : 

“ I would go with you, Ma-belle.” 

“No, I want to go by my own self,” said 
the child. 

The old gipsy’s eyes snapped. She lifted 
her head with an air of authority. 

“ Woe be to the child who rebels,” she said. 

“ Remember the warning,” said Rom the 
Rover, “ don’t hold little missy too tight.” 

“ My child must obey,” said the old dame. 

And yet, when the next night little Gipsy 
Jane asked permission to go roaming for an 
hour. Mother Rebekah said, solemnly: 

“Young child! young child! I have kept 
you safe thus far. But, if roam you must, 
promise me that in an hour you will surely 
return.” 

And the child promised, then ran away. 


THE NEW FORTUNE-TELLER 1 25 

happy as a lark to go with Granny Bekka’s 
leave. 

She did not know that Mother Rebekah 
followed afar off, saw her trip down the fields^ 
over to the cross-road and to the barn, then 
slyly listened to the music the child had 
wanted to hear. 

“ If that’s what she’s after,” said Mother 
Rebekah, “ it won’t do her any harm.” 

Then there followed a week of storm and 
gale. To the little gipsy’s grief and disap- 
pointment there was no venturing out until 
a week and a day from her last little trip. 
But when, on a mild, sweet evening in mid- 
September, she asked if she might roam a 
while. Granny Bekka said: “Yes, for an 
hour.” 

That evening Karl had a story to tell. 
There was to be another concert two after- 
noons later, a fortnight from the one that 
little Gipsy Jane had attended. And there 
had been another in the meantime. 

“ A great singer was to come for day after 


126 


GIPSY JANE 


to-morrow,” said Karl, “ and ze people were 
crazee to hear her, but now a letter have come 
from ze manager, and tells me that ze lady 
is ill, and no knowing when she can promise 
to sing in New York again. So ze manager 
wants me to play in her place. I do not 
want to play so soon again. I have no time 
to practise ze extra pieces.” 

He added, half in sport: 

“ Perhaps you had better dance and play 
for ze people.” 

He was surprised at the effect of his words. 
The child jumped up and down and clapped 
her hands. 

Oh, Karl,” she cried, “ how I wish I could 
dance and play for all the gay people! I wish 
I could play for the orchestra; they played 
for me. Oh, I know I could dance like every- 
thing, and how I could play, if only the fine 
people would listen 1 ” 

Karl’s eyes opened wide. “Would you 
truly dance and play at ze music-hall?” he 
asked. 


THE NEW FORTUNE-TELLER ' 1 27 

“Oh, I would! I would! Try me, Karl. 
Try me and see. You haven’t seen the whole 
of a, new step I’ve learned, and, if I could 
dance before all those King Pharaohs, Queen 
Shebas, and Queen Miriams, dance in the 
great temple, I think I might do great signs 
and wonders. Try me, Karl.” 

Again Karl looked surprised, partly, no 
doubt, at the strange language of the little 
gipsy. And then she seemed to think that, 
did he but favor the idea, nothing else would 
be needed to enable her to appear at the con- 
cert. 

“ I can’t say you may dance,” Karl replied. 
“ Ze manager and conductor have all that to 
say. They never will have anything but ze 
best.” 

He stopped and was looking thoughtful, 
when his little companion asked a question 
it puzzled him to answer. 

“ Am I not ‘ the best,’ Karl? None of the 
ladies had so gay a waist as mine. They wore 


128 


GIPSY JANE 


beautiful cloaks and fine bonnets, but my dress 
was the brightest of them all.” 

“ They are different,” Karl replied, feeling 
the great difference, indeed, between the gip- 
sy’s gaudy clothes and the more proper, re- 
fined ones of the people at the music-hall. 
All at once he took on a more lively tone and 
air, as he said: 

“ You may go to ze city with me to-morrow, 
when they practise or rehearse, and ze con- 
ductor shall see you dance, then, if he be 
pleased, he may let you dance before ze peo- 
ple next day.” 

“ I’ve got a new step,” repeated the child. 
“ I learned it my own self. It was hard to 
do it right for a long time, but now I can do 
it fine. I’ll be here to-morrow as soon as I 
have done my dinner.” 

She really had learned a new step, and it 
was a surprising one. 


CHAPTER X. 


BEING MEASURED 

Mother Rebekah was getting ready to 
go out selling baskets the next day, when little 
Gipsy Jane appeared before her in full dress, 
curls fluffing beautifully with yellow ribbons 
twined in them, and the mantle over her 
shoulders. 

“ I want to go roaming,” she said, “ through 
the woods and away a bit. I’ll be back in 
time.” 

She was cute enough not to say in time for 
what, for she knew that when Granny Bekka 
started out basket-selling, she seldom got back 
until after dark. So she hoped to return to 
the camp before Mother Rebekah could. 

“Where you going, Ma-belle?” asked the 
old dame. 


129 


130 


GIPSY JANE 


“Just a-roaming. You can put trust in 
me, Granny Bekka. I shall not go too far. 
I shall soon return. You know Rom the 
Rover said I was to have good, good, good! ” 

That entered into Mother Rebekah’s ears 
and into her soul. Ignorant as to many- 
things, superstitious, full of belief in gipsy 
foresight, she was now really afraid to hold 
too tight the child who longed for a little 
freedom. And then, she had much faith in 
her little maid’s natural goodness and fear of 
disobedience. 

“Why have you on the best clothes, Ma- 
belle, and why do you wear the nice shoes? ” 
asked the grandame. 

“ Would you have me seen in the old camp 
frock, and with shoes split at the sides?” 
asked the child, in a grieved tone. 

“ But where are you going? ” persisted the 
dame. “ I can’t buy Ma-belle fine shoes every 
day.” 

“ I promise not to hurt the shoes,” said the 


BEING MEASURED 131 

little gipsy. “ Where would I go to harm 
them? ” 

There was such an air of cool determina- 
tion about the child that it seemed to bring 
back some disturbing memory to Mother Re- 
bekah’s mind, and, besides this, she remem- 
bered every word that had been spoken by 
Rom the Rover, and his solemn warning, so 
now she only added: 

“ Remember judgments come upon those 
who tell not the truth, and you have promised 
Granny Bekka you will soon return.” 

“ I will return all right,” said the child. 

That was all. As soon as her dinner was 
over, she took her tambourine in its green 
baize cover, and started off through the 
woods, then down the fields, and so to the 
barn, where she again met Karl. 

This time the ride on the railroad had no 
fears, and was thoroughly enjoyed. She al- 
ways paid for her ticket, for the ten-cent 
pieces held out bravely, as the trips were not 
long ones. The ferry-boat was as great a de- 


132 


GIPSY JANE 


light as before, and during the walk through 
the city she was as gleesome as the sparrows 
chattering in the ivy on tall buildings high, 
high above her head. 

Karl would look down on her with serious 
eyes, and now and then explain things she 
did not understand, all the time half-realiz- 
ing what a merry, blithe little companion she 
occasionally made in his industrious, lonely 
life. 

“ I shall miss you when I go away,” he 
said. 

Little Gipsy Jane stood stock-still in the 
middle of the sidewalk. 

“When are you going away, Karl?” she 
asked. 

“ Oh, it may not be for a long time,” he 
said. “ I must finish my lessons first, then I 
go here, I go there, wherever I get a chance 
to play, and I must give lessons, too.” 

“ Perhaps I may fly away my own self some 
day,” said the little gipsy. 

At the music-hall, Karl led the way to a^ 


BEING MEASURED 


133 


great bare-looking room, where the members 
of the orchestra were sitting around, ready 
to rehearse for the next day. 

The conductor looked in surprise and 
amusement at the queer, attractive little figure 
the young “ violin ” had brought. Karl stood 
beside him, explaining that he thought it 
would be too soon for him to play again, 
especially without extra practice, then he 
spoke of what the little gipsy could do both 
with her springing feet and her tambourine. 

Meantime the taking little child cast bright 
glances at the players, who laughed among 
themselves at her droll appearance, bowed 
in friendly fashion, and succeeded in making 
the little gipsy show her charming dimples 
and gleaming little teeth. 

She was not afraid. She? No, indeed! 
Her little soul seemed on the eve of some 
great triumph. If only they would hear her 
play and see her dance, what great things 
might it lead to! 

The conductor came forward and spoke 


134 


GIPSY JANE 


very pleasantly, as if wanting to put the child 
at ease. 

“ So you can dance, can play, can sing? ” 
he asked. 

“ May I try?” she asked, dimpling again. 

“Yes, take out the tambourine,” he said, 
“ and we will see you.” 

The conductor had a keen, quick eye, and 
was swift in noticing the fine little form and 
charming face of the beautiful child. He 
knew how far such things went with an audi- 
ence. He said a few words to the players, 
who settled themselves with interested faces 
to see what the butterfly in tinsel and fringe 
could do. 

There was a wide, long space at the front 
of the room. When the conductor led the 
little gipsy there, for a moment she hesitated 
and looked perplexed. 

“ I wish it was grass or the ground,” she 
said. 

“ Oh, but the floor is smooth as glass,” the 


BEING MEASURED 


135 


conductor said, “ and so would the platform 
be in the hall. Are you afraid of falling? ” 

No, the grass was often very slippery, and 
the child had been taught to guard against 
falling. 

I sha’n’t fall,” she said. 

Out came the tambourine, a fine one truly, 
and glittering like gold with its bands and 
musical bells. 

The little gipsy was not nervous. She was 
too much a child of nature to know anything 
about nerves. As usual, she took time to poise 
like an insect on the edge of a leaf, the tam- 
bourine held high and off to the right above 
her head. 

She began dancing, keeping perfect time 
while knocking and thrudding on the tam- 
bourine and then ringing all its bells. Next 
the tambourine went swiftly round and round, 
as she twirled light as a feather to the faster 
music. 

It was truly marvellous that a whirligig of 
such swift measure could be kept up so long. 


136 


GIPSY JANE 


The tambourine fairly trembled with motion 
at times, as she held it on the tips of her 
fingers, then dexterously seizing it, she w^ould 
ring its bells, while tripping daintily ofif to 
the merry jingle. 

Suddenly she broke into a loud, jubilant 
carol : 

“Tra-la! Tra-la! Hi-ho! Hi-ho!” her 
strong, young voice rising above the clatter 
of the bells. 

Then came the “ new step.” She stopped 
singing, but danced swiftly on, while deftly 
balancing the tambourine and holding it per- 
fectly quiet on the tip of one finger high above 
her head. Then she flew around in a wide 
circle, keeping high up on her toes, the tam- 
bourine still quietly poised. All at once she 
tossed it, caught it, tossed it, caught it, repeat- 
ing the action several times, and all the time 
twirling around like a little wound-up wheel. 

By a swift motion, she finally caught the 
tambourine in both hands, clashed its bells, 
and on the instant dropped on her knees, si- 


BEING MEASURED 


137 


lent as an image, just as she had dropped so 
many times before Mother Rebekah on the 
grass. 

A loud cry of “Bravo! Bravo!” and 
“Well done! Well done!” with a stamping 
of feet, made the little gipsy look up in sur- 
prise. 

Some of the players were standing up, the 
better to see her, others were nodding and 
smiling, while the conductor said something 
to Karl, at which his face lighted up in a way 
very pleasant to see. 

The conductor led the little girl to a chair, 
telling her to “ rest.” 

“ I am not a bit tired,” said the little 
dancer. 

“ Ah, then I am very glad,” said the con- 
ductor, “ for I want you to try and see if you 
can dance, and play the tambourine, and sing 
as you have just done, keeping time and step 
exactly the same, while some of the violins 
play softly with you.” 

“ Oh, can I try a dance with some of the 


138 


GIPSY JANE 


Other music going, too? ” cried the delighted 
child. 

That is what I want to see if you can do,” 
said the conductor. 

“ I can, I know I can,” said the little gipsy. 

“Ah, but that may not be so easy. Now 
listen,” the conductor spoke slowly and dis- 
tinctly: “Pay attention to your tambourine 
only. Follow your own time, as you always 
do. Take no particular notice of the mur- 
mur, the rise, or fall of the other pieces. 
Your time is excellent. A part of the orches- 
tra, a few violins and perhaps a flute or two, 
can easily follow with light dance tunes, but 
you must think only of your dancing and your 
own playing. Ah, and don’t forget to sing.” 

The child poised and danced again. It 
seemed to inspire her, to lend wings to her 
fleet little figure, hearing the sweet rise and 
swell of the few violins and the clear notes of 
a couple of flutes. The merry carol, “ Tra-lal 
Tra-la! Hi-ho! Hi-ho! ” rose more strongly 
if anything than before, the extra pieces being 


BEING MEASURED 


139 


skilfully hushed to mere whisperings that the 
childish voice might be the more clearly 
heard. It seemed to the child a great matter 
of surprise that, as she dropped to her knees 
after the final fling, the violins also came to 
a stop with a sharp, instant twang. 

“ Yes, you’ll do,” said the conductor; “ that 
is, if you think you can dance and play as well 
to-morrow before all the people and in the 
great hall as you have done here to-day.” 

‘‘ I can do just as well,” said the little girl, 
and so bright was her smile, and so sure and 
pleased her . air, that the conductor did not 
feel afraid to trust her. 

“We shall see to your dress,” he said, 
“ which must be as we think best to have it, 
and you will be well paid for what you do.” 

“ My dress? ” asked little Gipsy Jane, look- 
ing down with pride at her gaily colored 
gown. 

“Yes, we shall get you up in a hurry, and 
you can dress for the concert after you come 
here to-morrow. Whoever dressed your hair 


140 


GIPSY JANE 


to-day can do it to-morrow. The yellow rib- 
bon looks very well ; the rest will be attended 
to here. After the concert, you can have the 
dress we provide to take home with you, and 
a little pile of dollars besides.” 

Then the conductor beckoned to Karl, and 
said they must go into another room for a 
little while. The child would like to have 
begged to remain and hear the practising, 
but she felt that the conductor was master 
there, and that everything must be exactly as 
he said. 

They next soon found themselves in a pretty 
little dressing-room. Here the conductor 
rang a bell, and when a man in a dark coat 
with silver buttons came in, he said: 

“ Send for Madame Roland to come im- 
mediately, and come for me when she ap- 
pears.” 

Then the conductor, telling Karl and the 
little girl that they would not be detained 
long, hurried back to the larger room, and 
pretty soon the music of the orchestra came 


BEING MEASURED 


141 

Stealing along the passages, the little gipsy 
straining her ears to catch each precious note. 

It was not long, however, before a stylishly 
dressed lady was shown into the little room, 
and the “ buttons,” as a porter or clerk is 
sometimes called, went for the conductor. 

The lady and the conductor talked briskly 
together for a few moments, then the con- 
ductor went away again, taking Karl with 
him, who said he would soon return. 

“Now, little girl,” -said the lady, “let me 
take your measure, and to-morrow you shall 
see the smart new gown we will have all ready 
for you.” 

Then such a measuring! Little Gipsy Jane 
dimpled and giggled, and appeared to think 
it the funniest thing there ever was. 

For the lady had taken a long tape-measure 
from a little bag, and measured the child 
around the neck midway to the shoulders, 
measured the length of the little waist down 
the front, down the back, under the arms, and 


142 


GIPSY JANE 


around the belt, and measured the sleeves to 
the little brown elbows. 

Then she measured the length of the queer 
little cotton skirt, and the queer little under- 
skirt or petticoat, measured the length of the 
stockings, and the length of the small, bright 
shoes. Then, with a penknife, she snipped 
off a bit of the yellow ribbon in the child’s 
dark hair. 

“ There! ” she said, “ that will do. You’re 
a little duck of a thing to dress, and to-mor- 
row you’ll see what a tasty little doll we’ll 
make of you.” Then she added: 

“ Now, to-morrow, you must be here by two 
o’clock sharp! The concert begins at half- 
past two. You do not come in until the third 
piece, but we may have to alter something, 
or take a few extra stitches, so be sure to be 
on time.” 

I’ll be here at two,” said the little gipsy, 
and she thought how nice it was for people to 
be smart and sharp, and right up to time, as 
these people were, instead of lazing about, 


BEING MEASURED 


143 


never caring much when or how things were 
done, as in the gipsy camp. 

‘‘ I love Granny Bekka,” she thought, “ and 
mean to stay with her — some time, anyhow, 
but I think things are fine outside of the 
woods, and I don’t believe but what other 
kinds of people are just as nice and just as 
good as the Egyptian tribes.” 

The conductor and Karl appeared as the 
little gipsy was putting on her mantle. 

“ Let’s see,” said the conductor, “ what shall 
we call you when you are announced to-mor- 
row, when we tell the people who you are? ” 
“ I’m little Gipsy Jane,” said the child. 
The lady and the conductor laughed. 
“What is her other name?” asked the con- 
ductor, turning to Karl. 

“ I don’t know,” he said; “ she told me her 
name was ^ little Gipsy Jane.’ ” 

“ All right,” and the conductor smiled 
again, “ we’ll announce her that way; it may 
be all the more taking on the stage. I’ll in- 
troduce her as ‘ Little Gipsy Jane.’ ” 


144 


GIPSY JANE 


‘‘ Where is your hat? ” asked the lady, look- 
ing at the faded, old-fashioned mantle. 

“ I never had a hat,” said the child, simply. 
“ Granny Bekka bought me a kercher that I 
v^ear when it’s cold. It wasn’t cold enough 
to wear it to-day.” 

The lady looked at the conductor, and 
raised her eyebrows. He nodded “ Yes,” and 
bade the child good-by. 

“ Now we’ll go,” said Karl, ‘‘ and I shall 
get leave to come to ze city with you to- 
morrow. I can.” 

The lady, sitting quietly for a moment, with 
the tape-measure in her lap, watched the little 
gipsy move away, and, as she passed out of 
sight, the lady said to herself: 

“ What a perfect little beauty, — face, fig- 
ure, and smile! I’ll make a bewitching little 
picture of her to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER XL 


IN MADAME ROLAND’S HANDS 

Again the gipsy child was fortunate in 
reaching the woods before Mother Rebekah 
got back from her basket-selling. She 
changed her dress, changed her boots, and 
was running about near the tent when Granny 
Bekka appeared. The face of the old dame 
lighted up when she saw the child frisking 
about. 

“ Ah, it’s my own good little Ma-belle, that 
has come back soon, as she promised to,” she 
said, cheerily, and it pleased her to see how 
full of glee the gipsy child appeared, for, 
indeed, the little girl was so happy she could 
scarcely keep from shouting out: 

“I’m to dance at the music-hall! I’m to 
play with the orchestra! ” 

M5 


146 


GIPSY JANE 


Bathsheba, going to and fro, saw the glad 
light in the gray eyes, and said to Mother 
Rebekah : 

“ It be a good thing that Rom the Rover 
came and told the new fortune that the child 
should run off by herself and play. She was 
getting sober like at times. Now I never saw 
a kitten more full of fun. And I’m sure she 
does no harm, for off she runs, and first thing 
we know back she comes again. Sure as the 
stars, back she comes to shine in her right 
place.” 

So there was no objection made when, the 
next day, the little gipsy said she was going 
roaming, but would not stay too long. 

It had been hard for her to go to sleep 
the night before. Visions of the great hall 
filled with beautifully dressed ladies and 
finely groomed men floated before her sight. 
She fancied the great orchestra seated behind 
her, and saw herself dancing between the 
players and the splendid throng before her. 

Yet no thought of fear or trembling entered 


IN MADAME ROLAND’S HANDS 1 47 

her heart. She only felt impatient for the 
moment of her appearance to come. Were 
not things coming out far ahead of her pleas- 
antest dreams? Had she not fancied herself 
dancing and playing before ancient kings and 
queens, and now the wild, sweet fancies 
seemed coming true. 

The great world was opening before her, 
and the glimpse was simply charming. Oh, 
no, no! she never, never could rest content 
with only a quiet life in the woods again ; still, 
she would try to be good and obedient, and 
not make Granny Bekka unhappy. 

She was innocent as a bird of her own 
beauty. She had heard the lady who meas- 
ured her say sweet things about how she was 
to look on the morrow, but the only thing 
that had troubled her a little was knowing she 
had got to lay aside the glittering velvet waist, 
her pride and joy, and also the cotton frock 
with its tinsel and fringes, and wear some 
other clothes that Madame Roland was to 


prepare. 


148 


GIPSY JANE 


The conductor had said in a masterful way 
that they would attend to her dress, and the 
happy child giggled on her little bed of straw 
as she whispered: 

“ And I sha’n’t say a word if they rig me up 
in a pony-blanket.’’ 

Then she fell asleep, and was wrapped in 
pleasant dreams until streaks of sunlight 
crept into the tent. 

Again, no one noticed that she took her tam- 
bourine, when, without good-bys, she saun- 
tered off through the narrow wood path, and 
over to the road. Karl was waiting for her, 
and told, as they walked away, how the con- 
ductor had given him a ticket for the concert, 
and seemed pleased that he had brought 
some one to him who could help take the place 
of the lady who was to have sung. 

A few minutes before two o’clock, little 
Gipsy Jane was in the pretty dressing-room, 
where Karl waited until Madame Roland 
should appear. 

The clock was striking two when madame 


IN MADAME ROLAND’S HANDS 1 49 

came in, and with her a boy bringing two 
large boxes. The boy went away, after plac- 
ing the boxes on a table, and Karl also started 
for the concert-room. 

“ Well, you were on time, I see,” said the 
brisk, smiling lady, “ and how do you do to- 
day? ” 

“ I’m all well, and I’m dre’df’ly happy,” 
said the child, dimpling beautifully. 

“ Where did you get those gray eyes, with 
such raven locks?” asked madame. “Most 
any one with such black, black fluffs of curls, 
would have black, black eyes, but where did 
you get those gray ones? ” 

The answer made Madame Roland look 
up, in surprise. Its quaintness was also amus- 
ing, yet the little girl spoke very seriously: 

“ The Lord of Hosts gave them to me. He 
made me, and He gave me my eyes.” 

“ For goodness’ sake! ” exclaimed madame, 
half-laughing, “ whoever taught a midget like 
you to talk in that style?” 


150 


GIPSY JANE 


“ Granny Bekka taught me,” said the little 
gipsy; “she’s the mother in our camp.” 

“ You’re a regular little gipsy, aren’t you? ” 
said the lady, smiling in her pleasant way, 
which the child liked, and which made her 
feel at home with madame. 

“Yes, I’m little Gipsy Jane.” 

“ So the programmes say. See, there is a 
line drawn through the name of the lady it 
was expected would sing, and side of it just 
the name, ‘Little Gipsy Jane.’” And she 
held up a satin paper leaflet before the child’s 
eyes. 

“ Oh, then all the people will know it’s 
me! ” said the little girl, “ but I can’t read it.” 

“What! have you never been taught to 
read?” asked madame, “and can’t any of 
your tribe read? ” 

“ Granny Bekka can, but she has never 
taught me, not yet.” 

“Well, come,” said Madame Roland, who 
had been taking off her hat, sack, and gloves. 


IN MADAME ROLAND’S HANDS 

as she talked, “ now for the dressing. Let’s 
see what we have here.” 

She opened the larger box, and held up a 
little dress. 

“ Oh ! oh ! ” gasped little Gipsy J ane, “ who 
made such a wonder, wonder, wonder so 
quick? ” 

She scarcely knew how she was speaking, 
for Madame Roland was holding up a little 
gown of fine white muslin, the skirt ruffled 
nearly to the waist. The waist was prettily 
puffed, and here and there were gleams of 
little yellow satin bows. This she laid over 
a chair, placing on it a sash of broad yellow 
satin ribbon. 

Next came a ruffled muslin under-skirt, 
then other snowy pieces, a pair of white em- 
broidered silk stockings, and, oh, amazement 
for the gipsy! a pair of white satin shoes with 
yellow rosettes on the top. There were three 
pairs of shoes in the box. 

“I shall fly out of my skin!” cried the 
child. 


152 


GIPSY JANE 


“Oh, don’t!” laughed madame, “that 
wouldn’t do at all. You might not be able to 
fly back again, then what should we do for 
our little dancer? 

“ Now let’s see how things fit.” 

She first took the little gipsy to a corner 
of the room, where a marble basin was set. 
This like everything else was a wonder to 
the child. It was strange, too, having her face 
washed with sweet-scented soap, and her 
hands brushed, then the little round nails 
made to look beautifully clean and white 
with Madame Roland’s penknife. 

The purple-black fluffs of hair needed 
nothing further in the way of arrangement. 
“Your hair looks beautifully,” madame said. 
“ Whoever did that knew how, and the rib- 
bon is twined in very tastefully.” 

“Tricksy did it,” said the child; “she 
likes to do my hair.” 

“And Tricksy has the trick of doing it 
completely,” said madame. 

Then the dressing began in earnest, the 


IN MADAME ROLAND’S HANDS 1 53 

dainty clothes fitting wonderfully well. The 
stockings were just right, and so were the 
shoes with the rosettes on them. 

“ I had three pairs sent,” said madame, “ so 
as to be sure to have an easy fit. The soles 
are very soft and what we call ‘ flexible.’ 
Now are you sure they are easy? The ro- 
settes can" go on either pair.” 

All were tried on, but little Gipsy Jane was 
sure the first pair were as comfortable as the 
patent leather shoes, and madame thought 
they seemed right. 

Then went on the ruffled underskirt, and 
next the dress, — the exquisite little dress. 
Madame hooked it over in the back, fastened 
the bows at the shoulders, saw that the bands 
and bows and the elbow sleeves were just 
right, knotted the sash, then held her ofif and 
looked at her. 

“Oh!” madame herself fairly gasped at 
the vision before her. The dress fitted as if 
every part had been tried on separately. It 
was just low enough on the little brown neck; 


154 


GIPSY JANE 


the yellow satin bows on the shoulders and 
at the elbows were just large enough, and 
bows, gipsy fashion, peeped here and there 
midst the ruffles of the skirt. The broad sash 
of yellow satin floated off beautifully. 

“ Now look at yourself,” said madame, put- 
ting the child on a chair before a mirror. 

The little gipsy switched to right and left, 
smiling and dimpling and showing her per- 
fect little teeth. 

I never saw the whole of me before,” she 
said. “ I’m fine! I’m glory fine. Don’t you 
think so? ” 

“ Yes, I do,” said Madame Roland, and the 
little gipsy thought there were tears in her 
eyes. ‘‘ You ought to be a petted little darling 
in some good home,” she added ; “ the forest 
is no place for you.” 

“ My ribbons are all just alike, aren’t 
they? ” asked the pleased, smiling child. 

“ Oh, certainly,” said madame; “ I took a 
bit of your hair-ribbon yesterday to be sure 
that everything matched perfectly. It would 


IN MADAME ROLAND’S HANDS 1 55 

Spoil your dress to have the tints differ even 
ever so little.” 

“Tricksy says the more colors the better,” 
said the child. 

“ The gipsies all think so, I suppose,” 
madame replied, “ but people outside of a 
gipsy camp think differently; one of these 
days you may understand about it.” 

She spoke kindly, as if wishing to avoid 
saying anything that might wound even a 
little gipsy child, but the little girl already 
felt in her heart that people in the world 
“ knew things,” and knew them better than 
Tricksy did. 

“Oh!” suddenly cried madame, “I must 
change the ribbon on your tambourine; I 
remember it was red.” 

A narrow ribbon of yellow satin was lightly 
wound between the bells of the tambourine, 
and the little girl’s costume was complete. 

The child had heard the rolling of distant 
music for some little time, and knew that the 
concert had begun. She had been dressed 


156 


GIPSY JANE 


several minutes, when there was a knock at 
the dressing-room door, and the conductor 
entered. 

Little Gipsy Jane was standing on a chair 
for madame to pin one or two bows more 
securely, her tambourine in her hand. The 
conductor’s eyes swept over the faultless little 
figure, then he gave a long, low whistle. 
Madame Roland knew what that meant. 

“ Are you satisfied? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, I am satisfied,” he replied. 

Then he said a few plain, pleasant words 
to the little gipsy, always taking care to help 
her feel at ease. 

“ I shall come for you after the next piece,” 
he said, “ and lead you to a little side door 
next the platform. There I shall leave you 
with a man, who will tell you when to come 
in. I shall take my place on the stand, and, 
when the man tells you to enter, you must go 
to the middle of the platform, and bow to the 
audience before beginning to dance and 
play.” He went on: 


IN MADAME ROLAND’S HANDS 1 57 

“ Then take your position and start off in 
your own way. Remember to pay no atten- 
tion to the music of the orchestra any more 
than you did yesterday, and don’t think any- 
thing about the people who are listening, just 
dance, rattle the tambourine, and at the right 
place sing, exactly as you would were you 
in the woods.” 

“Yes, I shall,” said the little gipsy. .“I 
like it,” she added, with a little grin of de- 
light, and the conductor was glad to see how 
entirely free from fear she seemed. 

“ Now don’t forget,” he repeated, “ to bow 
to the audience before you begin to dance, 
and again when you get through.” 

“ Oh, but I throw myself on my knees when 
I am through,” she said. 

“Yes, but after that you must get up and 
bow before leaving the stage. Do you know 
how to make a curtsey? ” 

“ Yes, Granny Bekka showed me how long 


ago. 


158 


GIPSY JANE 


“ That is well,” he said, and hurried back 
to the hall. 

“ There is one thing,” said madame, “ that 
the conductor did not think to speak about, 
but, after you get through dancing, and have 
bowed to the audience, it is thought to be 
polite to turn and bow or curtsey to the or- 
chestra. Will you remember that, too? ” 

“ Yes,” said the little gipsy, looking 
thoughtful : “ Bow or curtsey to the people 
before I begin, and curtsey to the people and 
the players when I am through. Is that 
right?” 

“Yes, that is right. Now don’t forget. It 
is all very simple, only remember it.” 

“ I’ll remember,” said the little fairy. 

Then while the boom and ring of the in- 
struments floated on and but dimly heard, the 
gay little bird amused herself with making 
curtseys, and madame remarked: 

“ Yes, you will do very well. I can see you 
take as naturally to bowing and twirling as 
a duck does to water.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

LITTLE GIPSY JANE 

After awhile the distant music ceased, and 
the conductor appeared again. 

“ Now, then,” he said, “ are we all ready? ” 

The child fluttered up to him, and took 
hold of his extended hand. 

“ I am going to slip in at a side door and 
see her dance,” said madame. “ Til be here 
again when she needs me.” 

And locking the door of a closet where she 
had put the child’s clothes and the box not 
yet opened, madame disappeared. 

The conductor led the little gipsy up a short 
flight of stairs just outside of the great audi- 
ence-room. There stood the “ buttons ” wait- 
ing for her. 

The conductor went in, mounted the stand, 
159 


l6o GIPSY JANE 

and tapped it lightly for silence. He had 
not thought to say anything to the little gipsy 
about the manner in which she should cross 
the stage, but when the “ buttons ” said, 
“ Now go,” in she bounded, running swiftly 
and lightly to the middle of the platform, 
where she stopped and curtseyed charmingly. 

The audience laughed, clapped, and was at 
once enchanted with the fairy-like creature 
that had skipped like a kitten into its presence. 

The conductor laughed, too, and was glad 
he had neglected to tell the child how to enter. 
Her own free way was the most captivating. 

It grew perfectly silent as the gay little 
butterfly poised as usual on the tips of her 
toes, the decorated tambourine held high to 
the right above her beautiful little head. 

Then began a shaking and a ringing in per- 
fect time, as the winsome little object, a mass 
of fluffy, mazy white and yellow, began spin- 
ning about, knocking and thrudding at the 
tambourine. The conductor slowly beat time, 
as the violins and flutes, with a rise and fall. 



“THE FLUTTERING BIRD IN YELLOW AND WHITE 
DANCED ON.” 




LITTLE GIPSY JANE l6l 

a hush and a swell of bird-like melody, fol- 
lowed the strangely skilful playing of the 
tambourine. 

The audience was smiling but breathless, 
as the knocking and pounding, the twirling 
and the ringing of the glittering instrument 
went on. The measure became louder and 
grew faster, while the fluttering bird in yel- 
low and white danced on, as if spinning to 
the music of a pixie’s reel. 

She had caught a bright, swift vision, as she 
curtseyed, of finely dressed people and smiling 
faces, and quickly in her queer little mind she 
had styled them Lords of Egypt, King Pha- 
raohs, Queens of the East, and grand prin- 
cesses of Granny Bekka’s most soaring stories. 

Oh, she was dancing for the hosts of her 
ancient people, and the bright fancy lent 
wings to her flying figure. Somewhere in the 
crowd before her, too, Karl was watching, 
and she wanted him to be proud of her. 

On and on she flew, never losing a half- 
beat of time between the bright jingle of the 


162 


GIPSY JANE 


tambourine and the twinkling of her glancing 
feet. The pieces of the orchestra followed 
cautiously, a trill or a run filling in, making 
the melody more complete. 

Suddenly the child broke into the clear, 
jubilant carol: 

«Tra-la! Tra-la ! Hi-ho ! Hi-ho ! ” 

the words, as usual, repeated several times, 
as the young voice rose high above the low 
notes of the orchestra and the clatter of the 
joyous brass bells. 

Then came the final effort, the new step.” 
Round and round she sped in a wide circle, 
while balancing the tambourine on one finger, 
and keeping it perfectly quiet. Then twirling 
swiftly around in a narrower space, she tossed 
it, caught it, tossed it, caught it, still twirling 
to that unbroken measure. 

Her ruffled skirts stood out straight, and 
the yellow sash floated like a revolving ban- 
ner, while the skimming feet looked like mere 
yellow dots. At last, with that dexterous 


LITTLE GIPSY JANE 


163 


movement, she caught the tambourine in both 
hands, rung all its bells with one vigorous 
shake, and dropped to her knees, just as the 
violins gave a sharp, final twang. 

The sudden stillness made the people won- 
der. There knelt the little dancer, her rosy 
lips parted in a smile, showing the white, even 
teeth. Then, as she rose and curtseyed beau- 
tifully, the audience broke into a perfect tem- 
pest of applause. 

Ah! the world wants and needs a merry 
jingle now and then just as much as it wants 
and needs the lofty strains of finer music. 

But the bewitching little fairy had turned, 
and was curtseying with cunning grace to the 
orchestra, who were all clapping and nodding 
with delight, and there stood the conductor 
smiling and softly clapping his hands. 

Then the child turned, and, midst the clap- 
ping and the murmurings of pleasure, sped 
like an arrow across the stage and out at the 
little side door. 


164 


GIPSY JANE 


The people clapped as if they would never 
be done. 

The conductor had followed her out. 
“Now you must run back,” he said, “and 
simply bow to the people and to the orches- 
tra, then run out again. Bow slowly; do 
not hurry.” 

Back she ran, stopped in the middle of the 
stage, her tambourine in one hand. Slowly 
and smilingly she bowed to the audience, then 
to the orchestra, then off she ran for the little 
door. 

The clapping did not stop in the least, but 
only grew louder. 

“You must go back and bow in the same 
way again,” said the conductor. 

“What fun! What fun!” softly cried the 
little gipsy. “ Td like to keep running all 
night!” 

“ It looks as if they meant to make you,” 
said the conductor. 

Back sped the little figure, but this time, as 
she curtseyed to the audience, up came a 


LITTLE GIPSY JANE 


165 

young man and handed her a bunch of lovely 
flowers. And before she had time to take 
them, u*p came another young man with an- 
other beautiful bouquet. 

The conductor came forward to aid the 
bewildered child. “ Spread your skirt,” he 
said, and, as she lifted the pretty ruffles, the 
conductor placed both bunches of flowers so 
she could carry them. He kindly carried the 
tambourine. 

Still that mad clapping and murmuring 
sound that seemed calling for the little gipsy. 

“ I think you must dance again,” said the 
conductor; “the people will not let you off 
until you skip and play for them again.” 

“ Oh, I should like to! I should like to! ” 
said little Gipsy Jane. 

“ The orchestra will not accompany you 
this time,” said the conductor, “ and do not 
dance quite as long as you did before. I will 
lead you in this time.” 

The people broke into still louder applause, 
laughing and clapping, as the conductor, tall. 


GIPSY JANE 


1 66 

smiling, distinguished, came back, holding 
his little “ star ” by the hand. 

She curtseyed, poised, and danced. The 
clear “Tra-la! Hi-ho!” repeating itself in 
ringing tones to the magic of the flying feet. 
She gave the twirling new step with its deft 
tossings, catchings, and spinning reel. Then, 
with a final crash of the tambourine, she was 
on her knees before the delighted audience, 
a brilliant little figure, motionless as a statue, 
and this time, by some sudden inspiration, 
holding the tambourine high above her head. 

Then she arose, curtseyed to the audience 
and to the applauding orchestra. The people 
clapped in a loud, long, unbroken roll of 
sound, as the little dancer again ran across 
the stage and out of sight. 

The clapping did not abate. There was no 
satisfying the people with this cheery little 
white and yellow “ star ” that had so taken 
their fancy. 

“ Go once more to the middle of the plat- 
form,” said the conductor, “ curtsey to the 


LITTLE GIPSY JANE 167 

audience and the orchestra, then throw the 
audience a kiss and run out.” 

The child obeyed, only, afterThe curtsey- 
ing, she threw the audience half a dozen kisses 
as she finally disappeared midst the clapping 
and laughing of all the people in the hall. 

“You have done bravely,” said the con- 
ductor, patting her little shoulder, “bravely! 
They are still calling for you, but must be 
contented with what you have done for them.” 

Oh, a radiant, victorious, perfectly happy 
little “ star” was Little Gipsy Jane. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


TIRED OUT 

The “ buttons ” led the satisfied child down 
the few stairs and back to the dressing-room. 
Madame Roland was there before her. 

“ Well, you little dear,” she said, in a cod- 
dling tone, “ you must be all used up, but you 
did splendidly.” Madame’s voice was a little 
unsteady. 

“ Pm not tired a bit,” said the excited child. 
“ I just wish I was going to dance here again 
to-morrow. I do!” 

Madame laughed. “ Come, now I must get 
you back into your other clothes,” she said, 
“ but this nice little suit that you have on is 
to be yours. I will put it back into the box, 
and the young man who came with you will 

i68 


TIRED OUT 169 

carry it across the city. It will not be heavy. 
And see what else I have for you.” 

Madame had unlocked the closet door as 
she spoke, and taken out the second box. 

“ Look, how pretty,” she said, holding up a 
gray felt hat, with crimson satin bows looped 
all over it. “ You see it is tasteful and sensi- 
ble. A little girl like you should have a hat 
to wxar, and not use a handkerchief on her 
head. And after the concert, which will soon 
be over now, the conductor will give you 
some money. Then, if I were you, I would 
get grandmother to buy a good, warm little 
cloak.” 

“ Oh, am I to have money? What, for 
dancing? ” asked the child. 

It had been such a delight and privilege 
to skip and play in the grand hall, and before 
all the fine people, that the matter of payment 
had not lingered in her mind, although she 
remembered now that the conductor had said 
she should be well paid. 

“ Why, certainly,” said madame. “ Had 


GIPSY JANE 


170 

that great singer come, who was expected, she 
would have been given a great roll of dollars 
for her singing, and a child who has done as 
well as you have should be fairly paid.’’ 

With swift fingers Madame Roland was 
taking off the delicate, beautiful little suit, 
when theie came a knock at the door. 
Madame answered it. Little Gipsy Jane 
heard a man’s voice, asking something in low, 
polite tones. 

“ You will have to wait,” madame replied. 

She cannot see any one for about fifteen 
minutes.” 

“Very well, then, I will wait,” the voice 
answered. 

“ There is a gentleman outside that wants 
to see you,” madame said softly. “ If he 
wants you to dance somewhere else, be careful 
that it is with a nice company, and that he 
agrees to pay you well. Don’t promise any- 
thing without your grandmother’s knowing 
all about it, and giving her consent.” 

“ No, I won’t,” said the little girl, yet there 


TIRED OUT 


171 

was a queer expression to her pretty, set little 
face. 

In a little less than the fifteen minutes, the 
gipsy dress was on, the great box closed, the 
becoming new hat on the curly head, and 
madame opened the door. 

Such a finely-dressed, handsome-looking 
man as entered! He started slightly at sight 
of the little dancer in her different clothes, 
but he smiled, as he said: 

‘‘ Ah, a gipsy, sure enough, I see, and where 
does she live? ” 

“ I live in the woods,” said the little girl. 

The gentleman looked at Madame Roland. 
“ A genuine gipsy, it would appear,” he re- 
marked, again. 

^‘Yes, her grandmother has the care of 
her,” madame replied, “ but she came with a 
young violinist, who played at the concert 
week before last. He will come for her when 
the concert is over, and may be able to tell 
where you can find her grandmother.” 

The man turned to the little gipsy as if 


172 


GIPSY JANE 


thinking it might be as well to get her inter- 
ested in what he had to propose. 

“You like to dance?” he asked, with a 
pleasant smile. 

“Oh, I do! I do!” And as the child re- 
plied, her cheeks were full of dimples, and 
the gray eyes full of glad light. 

“ Well, now, how would you like to go to 
another fine, great city, the city of Chicago, 
and dance every night for a week, in just as 
fine a music-hall as this? You would stay in 
a comfortable great house through the day, 
and be taken care of in the best of style. 
Then, in the evening you would go in a car- 
riage to the hall, and please a crowd of fine 
people, just as you have to-day. You would 
be paid generously, into the bargain.” 

The child’s eyes danced with delight. “ Oh, 
it would be splendid,” she said, “ I wish 
Granny Bekka would let me go! ” 

“She let you come here, didn’t she?” 
asked the man. 

“ She lets me go roaming in the day, if I 


TIRED OUT 


173 


am back before the stars are out,” was the 
reply. “ I didn’t tell Granny Bekka I was to 
dance before all the people, for I was afraid 
she wouldn’t let me. But I shall tell her now, 
and give her all the money I get.” 

“ That’s right,” said Madame Roland, in 
a low voice. 

The little gipsy was quiet a moment, then 
added : 

“ I’ve danced for the people once, and I 
like it. I shall dance again. .If Granny 
Bekka says ‘no,’ I shall say ‘yes!’ I love 
Granny Bekka, and must obey her, but she 
must say ‘ yes.’ ” 

The man broke into a hearty laugh, and 
madame had to smile, too, at the same time 
she noticed what a square look had come 
into the child’s firm little chin. Others had 
noticed the expression without exactly mak- 
ing it out. 

“ I think I’ll see your grandmother,” the 
man said. 

“No, no!” cried the little gipsy, “don’t 


174 


GIPSY JANE 


come to the camp, Granny Bekka ’wouldn’t 
like it.” 

“ All right,” he said, giving Madame 
Roland a quick, sidelong look. 

Pretty soon, in came the conductor, then 
Karl. 

The conductor handed a roll of bills to the 
gipsy child, which Madame Roland carefully 
pinned in her little pocket, while meantime 
the other gentleman was talking rapidly with 
Karl. He wrote down what Karl said in a 
note-book, then bidding the little gipsy “ good 
day,” he hurried away. 

The conductor, after saying a few kind 
words to the gipsy maiden, also left the room. 
Madame Roland, who seemed to feel a kind 
of fondness for the cunning little gipsy, said 
soberly, but with great gentleness : 

“ Remember, little dear, not to do anything 
without having grandmamma know all about 
it. It would be a great mistake. And you 
won’t want to dance and play the tambourine 
for people as you grow older, because you 


TIRED OUT 


175 


know there should be lessons to learn, and 
while dancing and the tambourine may be 
very pretty for a little child, an older person 
would want to do something better.” 

The little girl was thoughtful a moment, 
then said, with a disappointed droop in her 
eyes : 

“ That man didn’t want me, after all.” 

“ Oh, perhaps he did,” said madame, “ men 
do not always give things up as easily as they 
appear to.” 

Then madame kissed her, and said 
“ good-by.” 

On the way home, Karl talked more than 
usual, telling the child that she danced 
bravely, and looked fine, oh, beautiful 
fine!” 

The little girl chatted gaily, telling of the 
delight it was to dance, play, and sing, and 
then hear the people “ make all that noise.” 

“ They kept me running back and running 
back, just as they did you, Karl,” she said, the 
gray eyes full of pleasure at the remembrance. 


176 


GIPSY JANE 


“ That was because they liked it,” Karl re- 
plied. “ It was well I did not have ze violin 
case,” he added, looking down at the large 
box he carried. 

“ And see the big bundle my flowers make,” 
said the little gipsy, who was, indeed, carrying 
a paper package almost as large as herself, 
having the precious flowers in it. 

“ See my hat, Karl,” she cried, isn’t it 
nice?” 

“ Oh, it is very. I like it very! ” said the 
young Italian, speaking in the unfinished 
way he could not help doing once in awhile. 

The gipsy child’s voice dropped as she 
spoke next. 

“ There was a man wanted me to go to some 
strange city, it was a ‘ she ’ place, that is all 
I can remember of the name, but he wanted 
me to dance and play in another music-hall. 
Then when I said he mustn’t come to our 
camp, for Granny Bekka wouldn’t like it, he 
gave it all up.” 

I do not think he gave you up,” said Karl. 


TIRED OUT 177 

“ Oh, yes, he did. He said ‘ good day,’ and 
went away.” 

Karl said no more. Perhaps he did not 
know just what it was best to say, and so re- 
mained silent. 

It was almost dark when the barn was 
reached. Karl agreed to keep the box there 
until after supper, when the litle gipsy said 
she would come for it. She also left the new 
hat. 

In the woods, Ajax was flying around at 
a great rate. We’re all going to a cir- 
cus-show, up in town,” he said. “ Mother Re- 
bekah will have a chance to tell fortunes, 
some of us can sell baskets, Moses is going to 
take the organ, and Tricksy is to meet a friend 
there. We’re not quite all going, for Huldah 
and Zadoc will be here, and you will, too, I 
suppose. Hullo, what you got in that big 
bundle? ” 

“ Only some flowers,” said the gipsy child, 
going off a little way, and hiding the great 
package in some bushes. 


178 


GIPSY JANE 


She was glad not to have to tell Mother 
Rebekah anything that night, for now that 
the unusual excitement was over, she began 
to feel a kind of weariness creeping over her. 
It was not only the dancing and running on to 
the stage that had tired her, but for two days 
she had been on tiptoe with eagerness and 
expectation. 

All were so busy getting supper and pre- 
paring for the trip to town, that not much 
notice was taken of the child, except that, as 
Mother Rebekah’s sharp eyes fell on her as 
she went into the tent, she added : 

“Have you just come back, Ma-belle?” 

“ Not just,” she replied. “ Ajax has been 
telling me about the circus. Some day I 
would like to go to the circus.” 

“Yes, when Ma-belle gets a little older,” 
said the grandame. 

As soon as the rest had set forth on their 
long journey, which would keep them gone 
until very late, little Gipsy Jane, who had 
planned matters out in her shrewd little head, 


TIRED OUT 179 

asked Zadoc if he would do an errand for her, 
if she would give him ten cents. 

“ Where’d you get ten cents?” asked Zid, 
suspiciously. 

“ Granny Bekka gave it to me,” said the 
little girl, looking him squarely in the eyes. 

“ Oh, all right,” he said. “ Yes, I’ll do the 
errand.” 

“ Then come down to the cross-roads in 
fifteen minutes,” she said, “ and I’ll be there 
with a bundle I want you to bring up to the 
tent.” 

“ All right,” Zid said again, “ I’ll be on 
hand.” 

Off raced the child. Karl was practising, 
but kindly stopped and gave her the box. 
The hat, she put on her head. 

She managed to carry the box over to the 
cross-roads, and in a few minutes Zadoc 
appeared. 

At sight of the box and the hat on the little 
gipsy’s head, he gave a loud, long whistle. 
“Bingo, boo!” he exclaimed. 


i8o 


GIPSY JANE 


“You needn’t wonder,” said the child, 
wearily. “ I had some pretty things given me, 
and to-morrow morning Granny Bekka will 
know all about it. Just carry the box into the 
tent when no one sees, and I’ll give you the 
ten cents. But you mustn’t tell any one to- 
night.” 

She was as good as her word, and gave 
Zadoc one of her precious dimes, as he set 
the box down within the tent. 

“ I’ll keep mum,” he said, as he slipped the 
silver bit into his pocket. 

Then the child went for her flowers, and, 
placing them near the head of her bed, she 
covered the package with her mantle, so hid- 
ing it, and also keeping in the fragrance. 
And she managed, by putting her clothes over 
the box at the side of her pallet of straw, to 
cover that also. 

In two or three minutes more she was fast 
asleep. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE MAN FROM CHICAGO 

The next morning little Gipsy Jane ran 
out to her breakfast under the trees, dressed 
as usual in her common cotton dress, and with 
her old shoes on. She was fidgety for the 
first time in her life, because, as soon as break- 
fast was over, and Granny Bekka sat down 
to her plaiting of straw, she must tell her all 
about Karl, the splendid concerts, her danc- 
ing, and the wonderful new clothes. 

Would Granny be pleased? Would her 
black eyes snap, and her hooked nose look 
proud and important, at her little darling’s 
great success? Or would she be angry, and 
her head go up high, and her eyes grow fierce 
with displeasure at what her little Ma-belle 
had done, and what she had to tell? 

i8i 


i 82 


GIPSY JANE 


Oh, dear, it was hard to say! But what if 
she should frown darkly at it all, and declare 
that it all must be given up, — the roaming 
about, the dancing, and the playing before 
any one except members of the tribe? Could 
it really be all given up now? 

No, oh, no! that had been settled in the 
little gipsy’s mind some time ago. The world 
was wider than a strip of woods. The people 
in the cities, — oh, there was no such thing 
as measuring the distance between them and 
those who lived in tents! 

Well, the hour had come. Little Gipsy 
Jane had fluttered round her bed, while Bath- 
sheba did a little clearing up in the large tent 
where the women slept. And now. Mother 
Rebekah was seated outside, quietly smoking 
an herb pipe, and beginning her weaving on 
a basket of many-colored straws. 

The little gipsy set her chin in a kind of 
square curve, and, sitting down by Mother 
Rebekah, she began : 


THE MAN FROM CHICAGO 183 

“ Granny Bekka, I’m going to tell you a lot 
of things.” 

“ That’s right, Ma-belle,” said the old 
dame ; “ the young Romany maid has been 
abroad, Granny Bekka knows not where. If 
strange people have been met in the fields, 
it should be told, and told truly.” 

The fields? Then Granny Bekka thought 
she had been roaming only in the fields, or 
further through the woods. What would she 
say at the long story? What would she say! 

But the brave little gipsy told it all. Told 
of hearing Karl play, of his description of the 
orchestra, of going to the first concert, and 
dancing at another. She told of the rehearsal, 
of being measured for the lovely things in 
the tent at that moment, and her great bou- 
quets of beautiful flowers. She told of the 
wild clapping of the people when she was 
on the stage, of the conductor’s praises, and 
the roll of bills. 

“ Where is the money? ” asked Mother 
Rebekah, speaking sharply, yet showing the 


184 


GIPSY JANE 


power that money had to waken her interest 
above almost anything else. 

“ It is pinned in the pocket of my other 
skirt,” said the child, “ and the clothes and 
the flowers are all in the tent. Will you come 
and see?” 

“Yes, I will see at once!” And Mother 
Rebekah got up quickly, tossing aside her 
apron with the unfinished basket and straws 
in it. 

The little gipsy first took the flowers from 
their wrappings, finding them still fresh and 
sweet. 

“Oh, ah!” exclaimed the grandame, gaz- 
ing with hawk-like eyes at the roses and lilies, 
the pinks and azaleas massed in with delicate 
greens. The second bouquet was of lilies of 
the valley and other small white flowers, also 
grouped with fine greens. 

“Oh, ah!” Mother Rebekah exclaimed 
again, “what a fortune they must have cost! 
Better far to have given you the money, Ma- 
belle. Ah, me, what a waste! They must 


THE MAN FROM CHICAGO 1 85 

have cost dollars, child, dollars! I wish we 
had the money instead.’’ 

The little girl was disappointed. In a way 
that she could not express, she felt the flowers 
had been given her, as they really were, to 
show the pleasure that the people had felt in 
her dancing and playing, and so they looked 
dear and precious in her eyes. 

“Oh, Granny Bekka!” she cried, “I had 
rather have my sweet flowers that the nice 
people gave me than lots more money.” 

“Let me have it!” cried the dame. “I 
need money, need it bad. But, woe! woe! 
that I should get it from a runaway. From 
a child that strayed into the dangerous, 
wicked world all unbeknownst to her poor 
old Granny.” 

“ But you said I might go roaming,” re- 
minded the child, “ and, if the people want 
me, I must go to them again. Why, the world 
is beautiful, beautiful! I saw no Sodom, no 
Gomorrah, but only fine houses and lovely 


GIPSY JANE 


1 86 

people. I cannot live in the woods always, 
no, I cannot! ” 

Granny Bekka took to muttering, peeping 
about, counting her fingers, and rolling her 
eyes. She threw herself into a listening atti- 
tude, and said strange, mystical words. 

But the knowing little grandchild unpinned 
the roll from her pocket, and handed it to the 
murmuring dame. “ See, Granny Bekka,’’ 
she said, “ here is the money the conductor 
gave me.” 

The queer actions ceased, as Mother Re- 
bekah grabbed the roll. There were ten one- 
dollar bills, new, crisp, and rustling. The 
old gipsy’s eyes flashed as she counted them 
over. She seemed about to express surprise 
or pleasure, but checked herself, and only 
said: 

“ They paid as they should. No one shall 
have my little Ma-belle without giving a 
good price.” 

. But the child was taking out the beautiful 
dress, so out of place in the rude tent. 


THE MAN FROM CHICAGO 187 

Mother Rebekah stared, saying never a 
word, while out came the ruffled skirt, the 
dainty white clothes, handsome silk stockings, 
and choice little shoes, the dressy yellow 
rosettes especially taking her eye. 

“And look up there. Granny Bekka!” 
cried the child, pointing to the gray felt hat, 
with its crimson satin loops, which she had 
hung against the side of the tent. 

“ The madame who dressed me,” said the 
little gipsy, “ thought I ought to wear a hat 
instead of a kercher on my head. And she 
wants you to buy me a nice warm cloak. 
There’ll be money enough, won’t there?” 

At that Mother Rebekah’s wrath leaped 
forth. 

“ And pray what has any madame to say 
about what a Romany maid shall wear? ” she 
cried, with gleaming eyes and head held high. 
“Away with this trash! Have I taught you 
the ways of our most ancient and honorable 
people, told you the habits of our tribes, and 
filled your mind with stories of your own 


GIPSY JANE 


people, to have you go roving away to the 
wicked city, led thither by a Gentile fiddler, 
dancing the fling I taught you, and playing 
the tambourine I gave you, before the inhab- 
iters of Sodom? 

“Away with the whole pack of stuff! I 
shall sell the flowers, sell the clothes, and 
watch that you do no more roaming by your- 
self until your hair has grown long, and your 
dresses are long, too. I’ll take you into the 
world myself when the time comes, and see 
that the money is well spent that you bring. 
Now, go. I’ll take charge of these vain 
things.” 

But little Gipsy Jane did not stir. She 
stood, with her gray eyes more widely open 
than was usual, and her firm little chin com- 
pletely squared at the corners. Strange that 
its shape could be so altered according to the 
child’s feelings. When she spoke, it was very 
slowly, but there was a curious clearness to 
her voice that Mother Rebekah somehow did 
not like to hear. 


THE MAN FROM CHICAGO 189 

“ Granny Bekka,” she said, “ if you sell 
my flowers, and take my pretty new clothes 
away from me. I’ll go away and never come 
back! I will; I’ll go away and never come 
back. I will! I will! You said I might go 
roaming, so I did not disobey. After the 
concert yesterday, a man came and asked me 
to go to a she-place and dance at some other 
concerts. I told him I couldn’t go far away 
without asking you, and the good madame 
said that was right, but, if you sell my flowers 
and pretty clothes. I’ll find the man and go 
with him. I will! I will!” 

She pursed up her rosy mouth, carefully 
put back the suit and covered the box, then 
darted like a little wild thing out of the tent 
and over into the woods. There she flung 
herself on the grass, and burst into loud 
weeping. 

Yet she was not crying because Mother 
Rebekah had her money; she meant to give 
her every cent. Neither was she crying for 
fear Granny Bekka would sell her sweet flow- 


190 


GIPSY JANE 


ers and her lovely clothes. No, she was sob- 
bing and weeping because, for the first time 
in all her little life, she had spoken crossly, 
or, perhaps rudely, to Granny Bekka! Poor 
Granny, who had loved her so; who had, 
indeed, taught her to dance, and bought the 
fine tambourine. 

Yet, what could she do? Life outside the 
woods was sweet, and she just must have some 
of it! And what made Granny so afraid to 
have people see her while she was little? 
Would any one want to steal her away? Oh, 
no, no, how foolish to think of such a thing! 
And stay in the woods for years, until she 
wore long clothes? No! she could not do it. 
Still, she was sorry she had told Granny 
Bekka she would run away. It was very 
naughty to speak in that way. 

But, while poor little Gipsy Jane was cry- 
ing and feeling sorry under the great oak-tree. 
Mother Rebekah was still standing in the 
middle of the tent, looking at the fair, splen- 
did flowers and the great closed box. There 


THE MAN FROM CHICAGO 191 

was no rolling of eyes, no foolish peeping, no 
looking for silly, imaginary signs. Instead 
of these things, she slowly rubbed one yellow 
hand over the other, as, with a troubled, anx- 
ious face, she crooned: 

“ So like her mother! So like her mother! 
I never saw it so plain before. The same 
independent spirit, willing to be honest and 
out with the truth, but won’t be kept under. 
I must be careful. I can pretend to hold 
the reins, but must let little Ma-belle go her 
own way — sometimes. I can’t lose her ! No, 
I can’t lose my little Ma-belle. And the 
money I might miss if she ran away!” 

Ah, do you not see that it was not entirely 
fondness for the beautiful little granddaugh- 
ter that made Mother Rebekah unwilling to 
offend her too much, and perhaps miss her 
some day, but that the money she meant she 
should bring further on, it would be a dread- 
ful thing to miss? 

But this was a gipsy woman, not harsh or 
cruel, but loving money and show perhaps 


GIPSY JANE 


1*92 

more than she was able to love anything else 
in the world. It was in her blood, however, 
and it may be she could not help it. 

After strolling about for an hour, the little 
gipsy thought she would go and sit quietly 
down by Granny Bekka, so showing that she 
meant to be her own good little maid. 

So she went to a little woodland stream, 
one that she knew well, and began tossing the 
water into her eyes. The water was nice and 
cooling, both to the child’s eyes and cheeks, 
so she lingered a little while, enjoying the 
splashing and bathing, then back she started 
for the tent. 

As she came near the clearing, it seemed 
to her she saw in the slight distance a strange 
figure. And, if there wasn’t the gentleman 
from the “ she-place ” talking to Mother Re- 
bekah ! 

He soon caught sight of the pretty little 
gipsy, and waved toward her his tall hat. 


THE MAN FROM CHICAGO 19^ 

\vhich he had politely removed while talking 
to the camp mother. 

The child came forward at once, pleased 
and smiling at seeing the gentleman’s hand- 
some face. 

“Oh, he has come for me!” she thought, 
her heart bounding; “he has come for me, 
and Granny Bekka will have to let me go! 
How happy I shall be to go, and she knowing 
it.” 

The heart of a child is a sunny place, and 
it should be, for the good God has made it 
so, and little Gipsy Jane, in her old cotton 
gown, her tumbled hair, and shabby shoes, 
was still a very lovely child to look upon. 
And the gentleman knew what she could do. 

“ Well, my little friend,” he called, cheer- 
ily, “ you see I have found you out, and, al- 
though you thought I had better not come and 
ask grandmamma to let you go to Chicago, 
yet I have been wilful and had my own way. 
I want you for our grand jubilee that is 


194 


GIPSY JANE 


to last through a week, and I think grand- 
mamma is going to let me have you.” 

Yes, the money that was promised had daz- 
zled Mother Rebekah, yet on one point she 
was firm as a rock. Not one foot should her 
Ma-belle, her little Romany maid, go toward 
the great, distant city, unless she went with 
her. In vain the man assured her that good 
women in his company would look sharply 
after the child. Granny Bekka would not 
yield an inch. And she was right. The man 
was a stranger, and no child of tender years 
should be trusted with a person not well 
known. 

So urgent was the gentleman, however, to 
secure the beautiful and skilful child for the 
concerts that at last it was agreed that Mother 
Rebekah should go as her nurse, a thing she 
readily consented to do. 

And when the gentleman from Chicago 
left the woods that morning, little Gipsy Jane 
was one of the very happiest little creatures 
in all the wide, wide world. 


CHAPTER XV. 

ROSA 

And now we must leave our beautiful little 
Romany lass, and journey to a stately home 
far, far across the sea. 

You have all heard of England, its palaces, 
castles, cathedrals, and parks, its matchless 
lawns and lovely drives. And here are lords 
and ladies, people with much money and 
learning, belonging to proud old families, 
whose pictures, portraits, jewels, and fine old 
mansions are things to value indeed. 

Yet, sometimes a house that is almost a 
castle will seem lonely and silent, even though 
many servants slip over the rich carpets and 
fine meals are served three or four times a day. 

Rosemere Hall was a noble old house, with 
195 


196 


GIPSY JANE 


great iron gates at the entrance, and a little 
park leading up to the great front door. 

If any one came in a carriage, the coach- 
man must stop at a little building, called “ the 
porter’s lodge,” then out would come a man 
or his wife, with a great iron key, unlock the 
wide gates at the entrance, and let the car- 
riage sweep through. 

The Lady of Rosemere Hall had gone to 
her heavenly home when Bruce, the only 
son and only child, was but ten years old. 
So Lord Rosemere and his son lived alone at 
the hall, except for the servants, who made 
quite a little family of themselves. 

There was “ Willets,” the old housekeeper, 
who had lived at the hall ever since Lord and 
Lady Rosemere were married. She loved 
Bruce better than any one else in the world, 
and during his boyhood had watched over 
him like a mother. 

Then there was Dillon, the chief butler, 
and Metts and Collins, Lemmis, the par- 
lor maid, and several others. 


ROSA 


197 


Lord Rosemere was very proud of his hand- 
some young son, and gave him every advan- 
tage possible for gaining the best education. 
He was kept at school and university until 
twenty-one years old. Then for a time, Bruce 
gave himself up to a free and merry life. 

The old hall often rang with merry voices 
when gay parties were held, and Lord Rose- 
mere looked with pleasure on the bright, glad- 
some faces of the young, and enjoyed the 
tripping of their light feet. Bruce had all 
the money he wanted, drove the fine horses 
to the beautiful parks, and all the time was 
a high-minded, dutiful son. 

But he grew restless, as any one will who 
leads a life of mere pleasure from day to day. 
He really was too sensible a young man, and 
had too correct ideas, to intend leading an 
empty, useless life. Yet, before settling down 
to a worthy occupation, he wanted to do some 
travelling, and his father, while reluctant to 
part with him, yet felt that it would be a good 


GIPSY JANE 


198 

thing for him to see something of the great, 
round world. 

So off and off he journeyed to the far land 
of India, and from there to Japan, and, after 
nearly a year, back he came full of life and 
vivid descriptions of the places he had visited 
and the sights he had seen. 

^‘Just one journey more,” he cried; “not 
nearly as long a one this time, but I want to 
see America, then for a steady, busy life.” 

His father went with him to the steamer 
that was to bear him to far Western shores. 

And here, Bruce fell into a snare, and made 
a great and grievous mistake. 

One night, at a garden-party, he saw a 
young gipsy, who danced to the music of a 
tambourine. The girl was very beautiful. 
Bruce thought, the very most beautiful one 
he had ever seen. And when, in his admi- 
ration, he sought her out, her modest manners 
and soft, lisping speech completely bewitched 
him. 

Never on fair England’s shores, never in 


ROSA 


199 


India, with its dusky beauties, had he looked 
upon a face or form to compare with Rosa’s, 
sweet, beautiful Rosa. 

He should have known better, but often his 
feet led him to the place of encampment. To- 
gether they roamed through the fragrant 
woods, or strolled up and down the road. 

Whenever Bruce spoke of returning to 
England, the gipsy maiden would sigh and 
cast down her dark, starry eyes. And so the 
young man lingered and lingered. 

At last he told Rosa that he never could 
go away and leave her. And, as he was truly 
a young man of high honor, he said that he 
would marry her and take her with him to 
his distant home, and that his proud father 
would learn to love her, because he himself 
loved her so dearly. 

Bruce was doing very wrong. He had 
acted foolishly in the first place in paying 
attention to a child of the woods, no matter 
how pretty her face might be. He ought to 
have remembered his father, the high circle 


200 


GIPSY JANE 


into which he was born, and how bitter a 
thing it surely would bjs to the proud lord to 
have a young gipsy brought to him, as the 
wife of his cherished son. 

But Bruce forgot everything, except how 
fair was the face and how sweet was the voice 
of his Rosa. Only Rosa — that was all the 
name he ever knew her by until he gave her 
his own. 

As for the girl herself, she was too igno- 
rant to know what a dreadful thing it would 
be for an English lord to have his son, his 
only son, marry one of a gipsy tribe. 

The gipsy mother, Rebekah, would gladly 
have driven the young Englishman back to 
India. She would not listen when Rosa tried 
to tell that her mind was all made up to go 
with the young man as his wife. At first, this 
troubled Rosa. 

But, when Bruce told of his home at Rose- 
mere Hall, of the fine dresses she should wear, 
of the places she should visit, Rosa listened, 
well pleased, and one day, dressed simply and 


ROSA 


201 


prettily, she went with Bruce to the city, 
where they were married, and then at once 
started for England. 

It would be impossible to tell how shocked 
and displeased the good father was when he 
found that his son had come home, bringing 
a young wife, without having let him first 
know that such a thing was thought of. The 
young couple were at a hotel for a few days, 
and Bruce was determined to tell the whole 
truth. 

When, therefore. Lord Rosemere heard 
that Bruce had brought his wife from a gipsy 
camp, he begged his son to keep quiet about 
it, but said that he must find another home 
than Rosemere Hall. 

So Bruce furnished a pretty house his 
father owned, hired two good servants, and, 
like the true-hearted man he was, tried his 
best to please and interest his young wife. He 
taught her to read and write, took her on long, 
lovely drives, bought her the pretty dresses he 
had promised, and was faithful and kind. 


202 


GIPSY JANE 


Yet, to his surprise, Rosa soon began to pine 
and to droop, and Bruce could not help feel- 
ing what a great mistake he had made in run- 
ning after and marrying a girl who was not 
one of his kind in any respect. 

Lord Rosemere did not forbid his son to 
come to his house, or to bring Rosa there, 
but he never went into Bruce’s house, and 
Bruce seldom went to the Hall. 

After a year, there came a dear little baby 
girl into Rosa’s arms, and, as she had read 
that the name Jane meant “a gracious gift 
of God,” she called the little one “Jane.” 

Bruce hoped that now his Rosa would seem 
happier, for indeed the pretty house had 
ceased to charm; she cared but little for the 
drives, and the fine dresses seemed to be the 
only things in which she took much pleasure. 

She did seem brighter for quite awhile, 
but one night, when the baby was about six 
months old, Bruce went home, after being 
away for two or three days with a shooting 
party, and found a note from Rosa, saying 


ROSA 


203 


she had taken her baby, and was going back 
to her tribe. She had sailed the day before. 

She wrote that she had been homesick and 
unhappy. The woods were calling her all 
the time. She wanted the old free, wild life; 
she wanted the merry ways of the gipsies. It 
would be of no use to come for her, she would 
not go back. 

Bruce showed the letter to his father, who 
advised him to come back to his old home, 
and to, at least for a time, let the gipsy have 
her freedom and her way. 

She will always love to wander,” said his 
father. “ She ran away from her mother to 
come with you. Now she runs from you to 
return to her mother and her natural life. 
You can perhaps send her money by and by, 
but at present T do not see that you can do 
anything.” 

He was too kind and good to remind Bruce 
of his folly, or to preach about the mistake 
he had made. He only welcomed him back 
to Rosemere Hall, and nretty soon it seemed 


204 


GIPSY JANE 


like a dream that the young man had ever 
been married at all. His friends understood 
that his wife had gone away for a long visit, 
and they were glad to have him with them 
again. 

But you have seen that Bruce, thoughtless 
and imprudent as he once had been, yet cared 
a great deal for that grand old word, “honor,” 
and so, at the end of six months, he told his 
father he was going to America to find his 
wife, not to bring her back to England, but 
to make some arrangement for sending her 
money for herself and the child. 

He spent some time finding the “ Mother 
Rebekah Camp,” but at length he traced it. 

As he went to the woods where the tents 
were raised, there sat Mother Rebekah under 
a tree plaiting straw, her herb pipe in her 
mouth. He wondered now that he ever could 
have wooed a child of the woods and a daugh- 
ter of that careless-looking, ignorant gipsy 
woman. 

But up he went and inquired for Rosa. 


ROSA 


205 


Mother Rebekah’s eyes snapped at sight of 
him, and a crafty look stole into her face. 
At Bruce’s question, she replied, with no soft- 
ness in her tones: 

“ Rosa has passed into the Heavens. It is 
just as well. She was never contented. She 
would not have stayed with me long if she’d 
lived. She’s been gone two months.” 

“But the child, the little girl?” asked 
Bruce. 

“ The child has gone, too,” said Mother 
Rebekah, holding high her head, and looking 
far away in the distance. 

She was deceiving the man, and she knew 
it, for the gipsy baby was at that moment in 
the woods somewhere, in the arms of a stout 
gipsy woman, and that was as far as she had 
“ gone.” Mother Rebekah, too, was trem- 
bling with fear lest the woman and the child 
might come in sight before this troublesome 
man went away. 

But Bruce did not wish to linger. He 
handed Mother Rebekah a roll of bills, which 


2o6 


GIPSY JANE 


she took with gleaming, greedy eyes. Then 
he was gone. 

But, on leaving the camp-grounds, he all 
at once wondered if Mother Rebekah had 
told him the truth, and if he had not been too 
quick and too willing to believe her. 

He was glad to see a gipsy man coming 
toward him, and he stopped and asked for 
the Mother Rebekah Camp. 

“ Right back there,” said the man, pointing 
in the direction from which Bruce had come. 

“ And Rosa? ” asked Bruce. 

“ She is in Heaven since two months,” said 
the man. 

“And the little child?” 

“ Gone, over there,” and the man waved 
his arms sk3ward and forestward, and Bruce 
thought he meant she had followed the 
mother. 

So he took passage at once for England, 
his heart far lighter than it had been when 
he started on the journey, and, in fact, lighter 
also than it had been for nearly two years. 


ROSA 


207 


“ Perhaps, if my mother had lived,” he 
thought, “ I would not have done so foolish 
a thing, for mothers, I imagine, warn their 
boys against hasty marriages, and doing things 
that make them unhappy when it is too late 
to go back.” There was time for reflections 
like these on the way home. 

And what he thought was true. Lord 
Rosemere, trusting to his good sense, neg- 
lected to warn his son of possible dangers. 
His good mother would doubtless have 
thought of it, and it may be some excuse that 
the young man was left so entirely to act 
for himself, and that he heard no motherly, 
warning voice. 

Now he was going home a free man to 
begin all over again. His friends would 
only know that his poor young wife had died 
abroad. They scarcely knew there had been 
a child. His father would watch over him 
with the same love and fondness he had never 
ceased to show. 

“ I shall never need another lesson of that 


2o8 


GIPSY JANE 


kind,” Bruce said to himself, “ but I am glad 
that I was always very kind to Rosa.” 

So he gave his attention to business matters, 
helped his father look after his property, and 
the days again glided peacefully on at Rose- 
mere Hall. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE JUBILEE 

We left little Gipsy Jane happy as a lark 
because she was to journey to another city, 
take with her the beautiful new dress the 
conductor had given her, and was to dance, 
play, and sing for a whole week of evenings, 
except Sunday, in another beautifully lighted 
music-hall. 

Men and women would be delighted with 
her, as they had been before, for she knew 
her feet would not fail her, and neither would 
her tambourine. 

Granny Bekka was not much pleased with 
the idea. In fact, she never would have con- 
sented to the plan at all had it not been for 
the amount of money she would carry back 
to the camp when the week was over. In the 


209 


210 


GIPSY JANE 


woods she belonged, in the woods she wanted 
to stay, and she wanted her little granddaugh- 
ter to stay with her, and, for some reason, she 
seemed more than half-afraid to have her seen 
in public. 

But money was the one great gem and jewel 
in Mother Rebekah’s eyes. Oh, she would 
risk so much for money! 

She bought a plain little dress for the gipsy 
child to wear on the cars and in the hotel, and 
also got her a cheap little sack. For herself, 
she wore a coarse black dress, a great shawl, 
and a queer-looking bonnet. 

At the hotel. Mother Rebekah was scarcely 
seen. At the concerts, she sat in the back seat 
at the music-hall, and would not appear on 
the street in daylight during the entire week 
of her stay in Chicago. 

The hotel at which they stopped was not 
one of the finest in the city, but was a perfectly 
respectable place, where many nice people 
were in the habit of going. 

The bewitching little dancer, in white mus- 


THE JUBILEE 


2II 


lin and ribbons of yellow satin, was just as 
cunning and graceful here as she had been 
elsewhere. People clapped until they fairly 
burst their white and pearl-colored gloves at 
seeing the charming little gipsy flinging about 
to the gay jingle of her tambourine, breaking 
into the wild, clear 

«Tra-la! Tra-la ! Hi-ho ! Hi-ho ! ” 

and finally twirling in the new step, and toss- 
ing and catching the ringing tambourine. 

She had gone back to the hotel after the 
concerts, laden with flowers and with more 
than one box of candy, — such confectionery 
as she had never dreamed of before. Oh, it 
was all so beautiful and so gay! 

There were notices on the outside of the 
music-hall, announcing that every night dur- 
ing the week of the jubilee, “Little Gipsy 
Jane’’ would dance, play, and sing, the or- 
chestra accompanying her. 

Mother Rebekah did not notice this in her 
haste to get into the hall unnoticed herself. 


212 


GIPSY JANE 


night after night; if she had, it would have 
troubled her. She must have known that peo- 
ple were talking all around of the beautiful 
little gipsy and her wonderful dancing, but 
that her name was up in great letters outside 
of the hall, she did not know at all. 

But the great place was crowded every 
night, and many people who could not get 
seats would stand by the door. And it was 
plain to see that what the great crowd looked 
forward to with keenest interest was the ap- 
pearance of charming “Little Gipsy Jane.” 

At meal-times. Mother Rebekah would not 
go to the hotel dining-room until she felt sure 
of there being but few people there. Then 
she would eat hurriedly, feeling glad to get 
back to her room. Every night she went to 
the music-hall in a comfortable carriage and 
returned in it, the little dancer all dressed for 
the stage by her side. 

But think of it! This was the first time that 
little Gipsy Jane could ever remember being 
in a house. The lumbermen’s hut was the 


THE JUBILEE 


213 


nearest approach to one that she knew any- 
thing about. Her soft little bed at night, next 
to Granny Bekka’s larger one, with its easy 
springs and tufted mattress, its white sheets 
and snowy spread, was a wonder and a de- 
light. 

The mirrors, easy chairs, and velvet car- 
pets were like fancy shows that the child was 
never tired of gazing at and admiring. A 
closet in which to hang her clothes, and bu- 
reau-drawers in which to put her little hand- 
kerchief and white slippers, were marvels of 
neatness and convenience. 

“ I feel like the Queen of Sheba,” she said 
to Granny Bekka, dimpling like a beautiful 
little picture, as she combed her hair before a 
large mirror, or opened a drawer to peep at 
a lovely little lace-bordered handkerchief, the 
first real white one she had ever possessed. 

As Mother Rebekah would not walk out 
in the street herself, and would on no account 
have allowed her little Romany maid to go 
even on the sidewalk in front of the hotel 


214 


GIPSY JANE 


without her, she did allow the child to run out 
into the halls or corridors and play with other 
children she met there. 

This was a great and rare treat for the lit- 
tle girl, for being the only child in the 
Mother Rebekah Camp, she never before 
had known or played with other children. 

Think how narrow her poor little life had 
been! Yet she had not been unhappy. Her 
disposition was sunny, she had been kindly 
treated, and had been well content with her 
lot, until, all at once, her whole nature cried 
out for something more and something better. 

Now, once in awhile she went also to the 
parlor of the hotel for a change, and then. 
Granny Bekka, with a piece of black lace 
over her head, would go with her as her nurse. 

But Granny hated these visits. One day 
the little gipsy went to the parlor expecting, 
as usual, to play with the children who might 
be there. Mother Rebekah had followed her 
and sat down in a far corner of the room. 
A group of children were playing games, and 


THE JUBILEE 215 

the little gipsy joined them, by far the most 
beautiful child of them all. 

In a few minutes a lady strolled in and sat 
down to watch the children. One of them, 
a tastefully dressed, ladylike little girl, called 
her “ mamma.” 

While the game was going on, the lady 
looked attentively at little Gipsy Jane, and 
after the game had ended, she went over and 
asked the child her name. 

“ I’m little Gipsy Jane,” was the reply. 

“ I thought so,” said the lady. She spoke 
gently, but in a few moments she took her 
little girl by the hand and led her from the 
parlor. 

The next day, when the pretty little gipsy 
ran into the hall, the other children kept 
away from her. And when she ran up to them 
all eager to play, they did not seem to want 
her. 

She wandered about by herself, feeling 
strangely lonely, and wondering why the 
other children did not want to play, then she 


2i6 


GIPSY JANE 


went to her room and teased Granny Bekka 
to go with her to the parlor. 

When Granny found that she was deter- 
mined to go, she put the broad lace over her 
head, went down and sat as usual in a corner 
of the handsome room. Several children 
were in the room, and the little gipsy ran up 
to them full of smiles and eager to play. 

No; the little folks said nothing unkind, 
but managed all of them to slip away and 
leave the gipsy child by herself. Granny 
Bekka, with her sharp eyes, saw it all from 
her quiet corner, and understood. 

Several times the innocent little gipsy 
tried to keep around with the other children, 
but as often as she went up to them, they sud- 
denly vanished. At length, she went to 
Granny Bekka and said she wanted to go up- 
stairs and look out of the window. 

“ I should think it was time,” snapped 
Granny. 

In the room, the little gipsy said, with a 
puzzled look: 


THE JUBILEE 21J 

The children wouldn’t go on with their 
play, and kept getting away from me.” 

“ That’s because you’re a Romany lass,” 
said Granny, with a bitter look. 

“ Is it anything bad to be a Romany girl. 
Granny Bekka? ” 

“ Indeed, no! You know I have always told 
you our tribes are a people by themselves. 
Of course people out in the world are going 
to look down on us. That is why I’ve tried to 
keep you out of the world. What do other 
people care for our great King Pharaohs, our 
Moseses, our princes and princesses? Haven’t 
I told and told you that only in the camp are 
you really with the right kind of people, 
your own people!” 

For a moment or two the old glamour or 
charm crept over the little gipsy, that she had 
always felt when Granny Bekka talked of the 
gipsies, their ancient kings and queens. Then 
the dreamy look went out of her eyes, and a 
new expression spread over her little face, as 
she said: 


2i8 


GIPSY JANE 


“ Granny Bekka, I don’t want people in the 
great beautiful world to look down on me.” 

“ Why should you care for the world, any- 
way? ” again snapped Granny. But the little 
girl, without heeding her, went on: 

“ One of those other girls asked me one day, 
if I had read a pretty book she had in her 
hand, and when I said I couldn’t read, she 
cried aloud: 

“ ‘ Oh, oh, how old are you? ’ 

I said I was eight years old. 

“ ‘ Where have you been,’ she said, ‘ that 
you have not learned to read?’ 

“ I said, ‘ in the woods,’ but she did not be- 
lieve me and said I ‘ fooled.’ ” 

Then, without waiting for Granny Bekka 
to reply, she asked, with a thoughtful look in 
her gray eyes: 

“ Granny Bekka, do the little girls out in 
the great world read when they are eight 
years old? ” 

“ How should I know? ” answered Granny. 
“Very little have I roamed in the world. 


THE JUBILEE 


2ig 


And what have you to do with it? Have you 
not dwelt safely in the woods? Has any 
harm come to you? Haven’t I learned you to 
dance, so that people outside are glad enough 
to pay their money to see you? Yet I wish 
their gold was back in their pockets. I wish 
I had never let you see or know anything out- 
side the camp! ” 

Mother Rebekah put on her grandest air, 
raised high her head, and tried to look know- 
ing and important. 

But little Gipsy Jane had taken on a new 
look, too, one that the gipsy mother did not 
like to see. Her long eyes had opened wide 
with earnestness, and the little chin, usually 
so round and dimpled, had squared at the cor- 
ners, as with a look of determination, the child 
asked one more question: 

“ Granny Bekka, isn’t it nice and right that 
a little girl eight years old should know how 
to read?” 

“Oh, the world, the world!” mumbled 
Granny, peeping around as if in fear. “ See 


220 


GIPSY JANE 


how soon after the Romany maid leaves the 
tents she wants to know all the ways of Sodom 
and Gomorrah. Keep your skirts clear of it, 
Ma-belle! Come back as soon as you can to 
the woods with Granny Bekka, and live there 
in peace.” 

“ But I shall have to leave the woods some- 
times after this,” said the little gipsy. “ I will 
be good and tell you where I am going, but 
I shall have to roam away from the tents, the 
world is so beautiful.” 

Then she asked a question that made 
Mother Rebekah tremble all over. 

“ Did Rosa go out into the world?” 

“Who’s Rosa?” asked Granny, squaring 
around, and speaking so sharply that the 
child actually started. 

“ Tricksy said she was my mother.” 

“And what does Tricksy know of your 
mother, pray? She never came to our camp 
until long after your mother had gone above.” 

“ She said an old peddler told her that 


THE JUBILEE 


221 


Rosa, my mother, went into the world, and 
was glad to run back to the camp.” 

“What else did Tricksy tell you?” de- 
manded the old grandame, her eyes keen as 
needles, her nose curving sharply downward. 

“ Nothing,” answered the little gipsy, 
“ only she said no one knew whatever become 
of my father, and I told her I didn’t expect 
I ever had a father.” 

“Tricksy’s a gabby, meddlesome body,” 
said Granny, speaking more carelessly. “ Pay 
no notice to her idle talk. Peddlers say this 
thing and say that thing, never knowing if 
what they say is true. Come, it is time for 
supper, and then comes the dressing for the 
concert. Very thankful I am, too, Ma-belle, 
that this is the last night of the jubilee.” 

In her secret soul. Mother Rebekah re- 
solved that no matter who asked that her 
Romany maid might dance before the world 
again, or what price they would pay, on no 
account should they have her. There was 
danger that the first thing she knew, the child 


222 


GIPSY JANE 


would leave the woods altogether. And, 
furthermore, if any one asked for her, she 
would try not to let the little Ma-belle know 
it, because, if she found it out, her chin might 
go peaked at the corners, and she might have 
to consent in spite of herself. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE LAST CONCERT 

Soon after Mother Rebekah and little 
Gipsy Jane returned to their room after sup- 
per, there came a knock at the door, and there 
stood a woman, with a square box in her hand. 

She had been sent by the manager of the 
concerts to arrange the hair of the little 
dancer, and to make a slight change in the 
adorning of her dress. 

At this last appearance, the manager 
wanted the little “ star ” to look particularly 
attractive, and so, instead of the yellow rib- 
bons in her hair, at her shoulders, elbows, and 
on her skirt, he had sent small yellow chrys- 
anthemums to be fastened mid her purple- 
black curls and about her snowy dress. Only 

223 


224 

the broad sash and the knots in her tambou- 
rine were to be of ribbon. 

“ You shall see what a splendid posy I’ll 
make of little ma’m’selle,” the woman said, 
smiling over at the black-eyed “ nurse,” who 
did not seem to regard her with much favor. 

And a posy she made of her indeed. 

With tiny wires she fastened the bright, 
cheery little flowers midst the raven curls, 
and, with sheath-pins, made them fast at 
shoulders, elbows, and all about the ruffles 
of the skirt. She also fastened them on the 
white slippers in place of the rosettes. 

She did her work so neatly and quickly, 
never spoiling a bow which she removed, nor 
leaving a thread where it should not be left, 
that the child, who watched her, said, with a 
shy, cunning smile: 

^‘You know how to do things right, don’t 
you?” 

“ Oh, I should hope so,” said the woman. 
“ We all have to learn to do things in just 
the right way if we expect to be of much use 


THE LAST CONCERT 225 

in this world. I didn’t hurt when I combed 
and fluffed your hair, did I? ” 

“ Not a mite,” said the child. “ I wished 
you could keep on lots longer.” 

The little head was a marvel of beauty to- 
night. Granny Bekka had fastened the rib- 
bons in it on other nights, and had also made 
the shining curls look very prettily, but she 
lacked Tricksy’s tasteful touch, who had a 
decided knack in arranging them. 

But never before had the dark locks been 
so carelessly fluffy, yet showing the skill that 
had really cared for them, with the bright 
little chrysanthemums peeping here and there, 
as on this last night of the jubilee concerts. 

Dear me, there’d be no end of ways a body 
could fix you up to look like a rose or a lily, 
or a sweet little angel,” said the woman, not 
very wisely praising the child so generously 
to her face. 

But she really was so beautiful, as she stood 
ready for the mantle to be thrown over her, 
which she wore in the carriage, that there was 


226 GIPSY JANE 

some excuse for the woman’s too outspoken 
admiration. 

As usual the music-hall was filled with peo- 
ple long before the time for the concert to 
begin. Even those who had reserved seats 
had come early, as if afraid that by some acci- 
dent they might be detained, and so lose a last 
glimpse of the favorite little fairy. 

Seated just back of the reserved seats was 
a fine-looking gentleman, still quite young, 
who, glancing around at the crowds flocking 
down the aisles, said to himself: 

“ It was fortunate that I happened to come 
early, for, not being able to get a reserved 
seat, I should have stood but a poor chance 
of seeing what I want to had I been a few 
minutes later.” 

The stranger, who was only stopping in the 
city on business for a day or two, had saun- 
tered out from his hotel, — the finest one in 
the place, — after his night dinner, thinking 
he would go to some place of amusement. 


THE LAST CONCERT 


227 


He soon fell in with a line of people who 
were flocking to the music-hall, and there on 
the outside, at the entrance, he saw the notice 
of the closing concert of the jubilee, and the 
last appearance of “ Little Gipsy Jane.” 

The gentleman felt the blood suddenly rush 
to his face, and his long, gray eyes lost their 
dreamy look and opened widely, as he re- 
peated: 

“Little Gipsy Jane! Little Gipsy Jane? 
Who is she, I wonder? ” 

Yes, the gentleman was glad he had a good 
seat, and he also was all impatience for the 
third piece, when this little gipsy was to ap- 
pear. It seemed as though the first two selec- 
tions would never be through with. But they 
were at last. He felt his heart beat faster 
when the time came for the little gipsy to 
ta^her part. 

Ah, she must be a favorite! Such a clap- 
ping of hands and leaning forward with 
smiles of welcome! the whole great audience 
alive with pleasure and expectation. It 


228 


GIPSY JANE 


beamed alike from the faces of fine-looking 
men and fair, beautiful-appearing ladies. 

Then a side door opened, a perfect little fig- 
ure in gauzy white muslin, gleaming with 
yellow chrysanthemums, and holding a gaily 
decked tambourine in one hand, ran across 
the stage, paused, and slowly curtseyed. 

There was the usual tumult of applause. 
Then the little fairy poised, seeming more 
like a tilting butterfly than ever, held aloft 
her tambourine, always off to the right, and 
the audience quieted, as, with a deft shaking 
of the brass bells above her head, off twirled 
the airy little figure, knocking and ringing 
the glittering instrument, and keeping exact 
time to its music and the low trilling and sigh- 
ing of the violins. 

The mind of the strange gentleman was in 
a curious whirl while the graceful little 
dancer bewitched the people. He wished he 
could get a longer look at her. She had 
flashed like a picture on to the stage, and 
almost in a moment was in a twirl. 


THE LAST CONCERT 


229 


She went through it all, dancing as if she 
felt it might be a long time before she was 
allowed to again. She broke into the wild, 
free carol: 


“ Tra-la ! Tra-la ! Hi-ho ! Hi-ho ! ” 

repeating it the same as ever to her own lilt- 
ing little tune. She came to the “ new step,” 
paused in ringing the tambourine, but danced 
on while balancing it on one finger. She 
twirled in the wide circle, skirts out straight, 
chrysanthemums mere golden gleams, the 
broad sash again floating like a banner. 

She tossed the tambourine, caught it, tossed 
it, caught it, and suddenly, with a clashing of 
all its bells, and a swift twang of the violins, 
down she came, lightly as a feather, to her 
knees, the tambourine held high above her 
head. 

There was the usual hush of a moment, 
then, midst a tremendous clatter of applause, 
she was curtseying first to the people, then 
to the clapping orchestra, her rare little face 


230 


GIPSY JANE 


dimpling, the pretty, white teeth showing be- 
tween her rosy lips. 

Midst the din of applause, the strange gen- 
tleman just back of the reserved seats was 
swiftly stroking his mustache, and saying 
under his breath: 

“ Rosa! Rosa! her hair, her face, but not 
her eyes.” 

“ Your own eyes,” said some inward voice, 
and he was quick to believe it. 

Then a new look came over his face, — a 
look that swiftly changed its entire expression. 
His chin squared itself into a firm, deter- 
mined feature, as under cover of the contin- 
ued applause, he said, softly: 

“ If you are my child, ‘ Little Gipsy Jane,’ 
this will be the last time you ever dance in 
public, nor will you dance many more times 
to the music of a tambourine!” 

After that he sat like a statue, firm resolves 
forming in his mind, as the exquisite little 
creature returned several times to curtsey to 
the admiring audience, to dance for them 


THE LAST CONCERT 


231 


once more, and receive the flowers and bon- 
bons heaped upon her. 

At last she was gone. A sigh, half of pleas- 
ure, half of regret, swept through the audi- 
ence as she disappeared. 

The stranger felt inclined to leave the hall 
at once, then decided that it would be better 
to remain until the concert was over. As soon 
as it was through, he found his way to the 
manager’s room. 

“ I came to inquire about your little gipsy,” 
he said, trying to speak calmly and steadily. 

“ I’m sorry, sir,” said the manager, “ but 
if you want to engage her to dance anywhere 
at present, I am afraid you will not be able 
to. Two or three parties have been after her 
already, but her old nurse, who seems to be 
a relative, told us to-night to say positively 
that no one else could have her.” 

Where is she stopping? ” asked the stran- 
ger. 

The manager gave the name of the hotel. 


232 


GIPSY JANE 


“ Do you happen to know the name of her 
nurse? ” 

“ Not exactly. I think the child calls her 
Granny something,” said the manager, with 
a smile. 

“ And is she really a gipsy child? ” 

“ Oh, surely, a gipsy pure and simple. Be- 
longs to a tribe that encamps in the woods 
somewhere, not very far from New York 
City. Let’s see, what’s the name of the town- 
ship?” 

“ I’d really like to know,” said the stranger. 

The manager was polite and obliging. He 
whipped out a note-book, and said: 

“ Here it is,” and he gave the name of the 
town close to the cross-roads leading up to 
the woods. 

“ Thank you,” said the stranger. The 
little one certainly danced well.” 

“Oh, she’s a perfect little gem!” said the 
manager. “ I’d like to engage her myself 
again for sometime in the winter, but just 
now that old grand-nurse won’t hear to it.” 





»r\. 


‘“AND THIS IS MASTER BRUCE’S DEAR LITTLE BABY?’” 


I 



THE LAST CONCERT 


233 


The stranger thanked the manager again, 
and went away. 

He resolved not to go near the hotel, as it 
would not do to attempt finding out anything 
there. Early in the week, as it was then Sat- 
urday, he would visit the camping-grounds 
and find out the truth. But he must go slowly. 
There might possibly be some mistake. 

The middle of the week found the stranger 
who had been in Chicago at the cross-roads 
near the “ Mother Rebekah Camp.” He took 
a roundabout journey into the woods. If only 
the little Gipsy Jane would come strolling 
along, how glad he would be! 

Now he could see the tops of the tents, but 
he kept out of sight of the people. All at 
once — ah, how he rejoiced at the sight! — a 
child really was skipping along in his direc- 
tion. He went back a little further, and on 
came the child. He crept back still a few 
steps more, the little girl ran on. 

At length, at some little distance from the 


234 


GIPSY JANE 


tents, he came into sight. The little girl stood 
still. She had not seen him before. 

“Where is the Mother Rebekah Camp?” 
he asked, at the same time smiling pleasantly. 

“ Right over here,” said the child. “ Shall 
I call Granny Bekka? ” 

“ In a moment,” he said, coming up to her. 
“ But are you the little Gipsy Jane?” 

The little girl did not look at all like the 
little fairy he had seen dancing only a few 
nights before. She bore the same sweet face, 
dimpled cheeks, and curly hair, but her cotton 
dress was old and soiled, the shoes on her feet 
were shabby and split at the side, the beautiful 
curly hair was tangled and uncombed. 

At the question, “ Are you little Gipsy 
Jane?” the child’s long, gray eyes drooped. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I’m little Gipsy Jane, but 
if you want me to dance. Granny Bekka says 
I can’t dance another step outside the camp 
until I’m old and big. Granny says first thing 
she knows I may run away into the wicked 
world. But I sha’n’t run away.” 


THE LAST CONCERT 


235 


“ Do you love to dance? ” 

“Oh, dearly, dearly! If you want me to, 
please tease Granny Bekka, and I’ll tell her I 
must! ” 

Up went the curly head, and, as the child 
spoke, the gentleman fairly started in sur- 
prise, for suddenly the little chin had taken 
on a shape he had seen more than once about 
his own face, as he looked into the mirror. 

“ Did your mother dance? ” he asked. 

“ I don’t know. Tricksy says she went out 
into the world, but was glad to come back to 
the camp.” 

The gentleman’s voice trembled, and he 
clasped his hands tightly together, as he asked 
the next question: 

“ And did she stay in the camp? ” 

“ Oh, no, she passed into the holy Heaven 
of Heavens when I was a baby.” 

“ What was her name? ” 

“ Rosa.” 

The gentleman swallowed hard, and was 


236 


GIPSY JANE 


quiet a moment. Then he looked up and 
asked, more lightly: 

“ Do you like being a little gipsy, and liv- 
ing in the woods? ” 

“ Yes, I like the woods, but I would like to 
go out into the world, too. The world is 
beautiful. And houses are beautiful!” 

She went on, with shining eyes and a voice 
full of pleasure, as if telling a sweet and pleas- 
ant story: 

“ I slept in a sweet little bed last week when 
I went away to dance, and I had such dre’dful 
nice things to eat! There was warm water 
and lots of clean towels, and white sheets, 
and looking-glasses, and a thing with wide 
drawers to put my nice things in, and a little 
bit of a room with hooks in it to hang my 
dress up. Oh, houses are splendid! 

“ Oh, and I rode with Granny Bekka every 
night last week to the music-hall in a real 
coach, with two horses. Rode with two 
horses, and a man to drive!” 

Her face was like a sunbeam as she de- 


THE LAST CONCERT 237 

scribed the lovely and unusual things just seen 
for the first time. 

“ Was it the first time you ever danced 
before people? ” asked the gentleman. 

“ No, I danced just once before.” 

And she told him all about Karl, his violin, 
and the first splendid concert, then the one at 
which she danced. 

“ Well, now,” said the stranger, speaking 
in a low, distinct voice, “ how should you lil:c 
to live always in a fine, large house, with < 
maid to dress and wait upon you, to have 
room all to yourself, with a soft, little bed in 
it, white sheets, pretty white furniture, and to 
drive whenever you want to in a lovely park, 
with two horses and a man to hold the reins? ” 

“ I should like it! I should like it!” said 
the child, her gray eyes full of dreams called 
up by the pleasing picture, and her mouth 
smiling. 

The next moment she grew sober, looking 
almost grieved. 

“ And would I read? ” she asked. • Some 


238 


GIPSY JANE 


children wouldn’t play with me when I was 
in the great house, because I was a Romany 
maid, and they thought ’twas dre’dful because 
I couldn’t read.” 

“ Yes, you would soon learn to read. And, 
if you love Karl’s violin so much, how would 
you like to have a violin, and be taught to 
play it? ” 

“ Oh, beautiful! beautiful! ” cried the little 
gipsy. “ I should like it better than anything 
else in the world.” 

The noble-looking young gentleman put 
out his hand, and little Gipsy Jane took it at 
once. 

“ Come, my child,” he said, “ now we will 
go and find your grandmamma.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

MONEY 

When Mother Rebekah saw her little Ma- 
belle coming through the woods, and who was 
with her, she trembled, but put on her most 
haughty and defiant look. Her eyes snapped, 
and even through her tawny skin, the stranger 
could see that she flushed a dark red. 

It was seven years since Bruce Rosemere 
had last been in America, but when a matter 
of business needed looking after, he “ ran 
over ” for a short trip. 

He would sometimes have wondered if 
Mother Rebekah had told him the truth seven 
years ago had it not been that he understood 
the gipsy man to tell the same story. 

Now this strange thing had come about, 
239 


240 


GIPSY JANE 


which doubtless meant that the beautiful little 
fairy he had seen dancing was no other than 
his own child. And, if so, you have heard 
him say she would not dance again in public. 

Now, as he came up to the old gipsy 
woman, he said, respectfully but firmly: 

“ Good morning. Mother Rebekah ; you 
see I have found my way to your camp once 
more, and must have a talk with you.” 

Mother Rebekah turned sharply to the 
child. “ Run away and play,” she said. 

Away sped the child, and then Bruce Rose- 
mere let Mother Rebekah know that he could 
not be deceived again, but that he must take 
charge of his own little girl, as was a father’s 
right and duty. 

“ I didn’t tell a falsehood,” said Mother 
Rebekah. “ I remember I said the child was 
gone, too. I didn’t say where.” 

“ You deceived me,” said Bruce, still speak- 
ing gently, “ and I think a man of the camp, 
whom I met afterward, deceived me, too.” 

“ Well, we didn’t deceive you about Rosa,” 


MONEY 241 

said Mother Rebekah, “ and, as to the child, 
I wanted her, and I want her now.” 

“ So do I,” said Bruce, “ and must have 
her.” 

“What if I won’t give her up?” 

“ Then I may have to get the law to help 
me. 

At that Mother Rebekah looked black. 
Gipsies are more afraid of the law than of 
almost anything else in the world. The old 
tribal mother indeed looked troubled and 
distressed. 

Then Bruce said a very kind thing. 

You know he has been called a gentleman, 
and a gentleman will always try to be kind 
and gentle, and to do all he can to make peo- 
ple feel comfortable and happy. So now he 
said to the grandame: 

“ I will not ask you to give the child up 
entirely, neither can I ask you to live in the 
house with her, but, if you choose, you can 
come to England, and I will see that you have 


2^2 


GIPSY JANE 


good lodgings in a place where you can see 
the little girl often.” 

Aha! All Mother Rebekah’s love of inde- 
pendence and free out-of-door living flamed 
up at the kindly offer. What! leave her 
chosen people? Leave the old encampment 
called after her own name? Live midst Gen- 
tile people, who cared nothing for the dukes 
and princes and ancient customs of the Egyp- 
tians! 

Never! Not for a moment would she think 
of such a thing. Romany she was born. 
Romany she would live to the very end. And 
the black eyes snapped again, the beaky nose 
looked proud and scornful at the impossible 
idea. 

Bruce pondered. All at once he remem- 
bered Mother Rebekah’s love of money. He 
had seen the dark eyes gleam with joy more 
than once when money had come into her 
hands. 

“ Very well,” he said, “ I do not wish to 
take the little girl from you without your 


MONEY 


243 


consent, or without paying a sum of money 
that would be equal to as much as you would 
be likely to get from her dancing. If you will 
say you are willing she should go with me, 
I will see that, by simply going to a bank in 
the city every month, and signing your name, 
you can get regularly a sum of money. I will 
go with you once, so they will know you.” 

When he mentioned the amount that would 
be paid her, the old dame fairly gasped. 

“ Could I get it certain sure? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, but remember, you give up the 
child.” 

She’d go after a few years, anyway,” said 
Mother Rebekah; “she isn’t just like us. 
She’s got different blood in her. She’s been 
bound to get out into the world. She wouldn’t 
keep to the tents like a true Romany lass, 
and I’d ruther she’d go now than by and by, 
when I wouldn’t, be getting any money out of 
her. And then. I’ve always been afraid of 
you turning up. I’ve kept the little maid 
close for fear of it. Yes, she can go.” 


244 


GIPSY JANE 


If the old grandmother felt a pang of sor- 
row at thought of parting with the winsome 
child, she did not show it. Her eyes had the 
old greedy look at the prospect of having so 
much money. 

Bruce was still very gentle. “ I will give 
you the money for this month,” he said, “ al- 
though the month is only half gone,” and 
a roll of bills fell into her lap. “ I think I 
will take the child at once,” he added. “ I 
might as well.” 

Fie turned immediately and passed out of 
sight, leaving Mother Rebekah counting over 
the money. He soon found the little girl, who 
had not wandered far away. 

“ Come,” he said, “ you are to go with me, 
and find the pleasant house and the lovely 
room I told you about. Your grandmamma 
gives her consent, and she is to have a good 
deal of money for letting you go.” 

The gipsy child was not old enough, nor 
wise enough, to feel sorry or grieved that her 
grandmother was willing to give her up for 


MONEY 


245 


gold. As any child would be, she was 
charmed with the stories the nice-looking 
gentleman had told, and visions of the violin, 
her very own, already danced before her eyes. 

“ I am to take you right away,” said the 
stranger, “ so you need only to put on your 
coat and hat.” 

“ Oh, but I want my dancing dress and my 
tambourine,” said the little gipsy, “ and my 
waist with the beads on it. And I have better 
shoes than these.” 

“You can put on the better shoes,” said 
the gentleman, “ but I will get some pretty 
dresses in town, that will please you, I know. 
The tambourine we will leave, too. You 
won’t want it after you have the violin, you 
know.” 

Mother Rebekah appeared pleased to know 
that neither the beautiful white clothes nor 
the tambourine were to be taken away. She 
mumbled something about a little sister of 
Tricksy’s that wanted to come to the camp, 
and might like them. 


GIPSY JANE 


246 

Bruce dreaded the parting, and wished it 
was over. The roll of bills was still in the 
grandame’s hands, as the child ran up to bid 
her good-by. She did not shed a tear, neither 
did she offer to kiss the child. But she put 
her hand on the little gipsy’s forehead, and 
said, solemnly: 

“Farewell, Ma-belle, my Romany lass; 
‘ the Lord watch between thee and me when 
we are absent one from another.’ ” 

“ Kiss your grandma,” said Bruce, as the 
little girl turned slowly toward him. 

As if she scarcely knew how, the little gipsy 
went up to her grandmother and kissed her 
cheek. 

Bruce then said a few words, telling 
Mother Rebekah where to meet him in the 
city the next day, as he must go with her to 
the bank to make her known there. Then he 
turned away. 

As he wished to tell the child in as simple 
a manner as possible who he really was, while 
they walked through the woods and down the 


MONEY 


247 


road, he told her that he was her father, that 
there had been reasons why he did not come 
for her before, but that now she was to live 
with him in his home, and in what would 
be her own home. 

“ Now,” he said, brightly, “ I think we 
must find Karl, for I want to thank him for 
being very kind to my little girl, and to give 
him a little present.” 

“ Karl will be glad,” said the child, simply. 
“ He has not any friends, except his music- 
master and the farmer he works for.” 

They found the young man without much 
trouble, and, after saying a few kind words 
to him, Bruce put something into his hand 
which would help him for many a day. Then 
they bade him good-by, the young man look- 
ing very sober as he parted with little Gipsy 
Jane. 

“ Did you give him money? ” asked the 
child. 

Yes, I wanted to help him because he is 
trying so hard to help himself.” 


248 


GIPSY JANE 


The next question showed how much the 
child of the woods needed teaching. 

“ Is money the best thing in the world?” 

“No, money is not the best thing in the 
world. It is a fine thing to have money 
enough, and people cannot be comfortable 
without it. One of these days you will learn 
all about the best things, I hope.” 

“ I think the world is splendid! ” cried the 
child, as she pattered happily along. “ I 
think it is better, better, better than money. 
But Granny Bekka had a song she used to sing 
and sing. I only know the first line: 


“ ‘ Oh money, money, come into my hands I ’ 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD 

Little Gipsy Jane had begun a new life, 
one full of happiness. She had been happy 
m the woods, and no bird could be more full 
of delight than she had been when dancing 
before the clapping crowds at the concerts. 

But she was tiring of the camp, and long- 
ing to get out of the woods, while Mother 
Rebekah was growing more and more deter- 
mined that she must not go anywhere unless 
she went with her. 

And then, the little girl had already got 
the idea into her curly head that children 
beyond the woods could read, and that they 
looked down on gipsies, and did not want to 
keep company with them. 

And because the child was only half-gipsy, 

249 


250 


GIPSY JANE 


and would soon have wanted better things, 
her papa had come at just the right time, and, 
oh, such merry days, and such beautiful, com- 
fortable nights as came rolling in with the 
new tide! 

At one of the finest hotels in the great city, 
she had a dear little room to herself, just out 
of her papa’s larger one, which was a fine, 
great place, with lovely pictures all painted 
in colors, such as the little girl had never seen 
before, and pieces of furniture that she had 
got to learn the names of. 

A neat young girl at the hotel was hired 
to dress her, and act as her nurse, after the first 
day in the city, when two entire suits of clothes 
had been hastily bought. The girl curled her 
hair, and also attended to her baths. Oh, 
those baths! The child had often waded in 
a pond, but to jump right into a little river,” 
as she called it, all beautifully warmed, and 
in a room that was just for bathing, really 
it was another beautiful wonder of the beau- 
tiful world. 


THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD 


251 

But her papa was stopping in the city to 
get his little girl properly prepared to go to 
her new home. So one morning he told her 
that a lady was coming to see about getting 
her an “ outfit,” which, as you know, meant 
a fitting out in the way of all kinds of clothes. 

He explained to her that it would be better 
not to speak of having been a little gipsy, or 
of living in the woods. And it pleased him 
when she said: 

“ I felt inside me that I’d better not. I 
shall be so different now, that I won’t be a 
Romany maid any more. Oh, but I love the 
beautiful, beautiful world!” 

Dear little child ! It must have been a very 
fond dream, that of getting out of the narrow 
circle of the woods, and staying out, for she 
really enjoyed everything that she saw, heard, 
and touched. 

And then, to have her papa kiss and fondle 
her was something entirely new, and, little 
Eve that she was, she liked it. Granny Bekka 
had never caressed her, and it was beautiful 


252 


GIPSY JANE 


to have this dear, new, young papa want to 
hold and love and pet her as he did. 

“ I believe I have been lonely, and didn’t 
know it,” he said to himself. But he laughed, 
then felt a choking sensation, when one day 
the pretty child said, after hugging him with 
all her might: 

“ Papa, I’ve found out all my own self 
what’s the best thing in the world — it’s you! 

But another lady, quite a young lady, came, 
who did just as Madame Roland had done. 
Measured and measured, and wrote down in 
a little book so many, many things there were 
to get, that it seemed to little Jane as if it 
must take a long, long time for them all to be 
finished. 

But you see, she had no idea of how very 
quickly things could be got ready, if only 
there was money to pay for them all. 

She remembered how soon Madame Ro- 
land had brought one suit and a pretty hat, 
all beautifully finished, but now there were 
to be several dresses, skirts, white clothes. 


THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD 


253 


sacks, hats, gloves, shoes, everything that a 
little well-dressed girl is supposed to have, 
ordered and sent home. 

The young girl who measured her, and was 
to attend to the fitting of things, was pretty 
and smart, but not very strong. Her cheeks 
were pale, and she was much thinner than a 
young person of her age should be. But she 
was bright and full of fun, and little Jane was 
so cunning and so sweet that whenever 
“ Lucy,” as she taught the child to call her, 
came to try on the different garments, there 
was very likely to be a frolic ahead. One day, 
Lucy, who had just pinched a plump little 
shoulder, said, wearily: 

“ Oh, dear, how I shall miss you when the 
things are all done, and away you sail, you 
little ducky-daddies! And, dear me, wouldn’t 
I like to cross the great, fresh ocean! I only 
wish I was going with you.” 

Ooh! ooh! ” cried the quick-witted child, 
“ papa says I must have a nurse to take care 


254 


GIPSY JANE 


of me on the steamer. Would you be a nurse, 
Lucy? Oh, please come and be my nurse.” . 

“ I never thought I’d like being a nurse,”' 
said Lucy, looking thoughtful all at once, 
“ but if I could take care of such a nice little 
thing as you are, and go to England on a 
great, splendid steamer — my!” 

She dropped the little skirt she had been 
fitting, and went off into dreams, looking 
flushed and wistful. 

“ My aunt wouldn’t care that I board 
with,” she said, “ if I did go away, and — oh! 
you ask your papa if I would do, and, if he 
says yes, I believe I’ll go. It makes me feel 
newer just to think of it.” 

The next day, when Lucy came, her face 
was eager, and there was an anxious question 
in it. 

“Papa says ‘yes,’” cried little Jane, the 
moment she saw her. “ He thinks you’ll 
make a ducky-daddies nurse. Anyway, that’s 
what I told him you’d make.” 


THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD 255 

Lucy laughed merrily, and said she would 

go- 

She did not know that “ papa ” had seen the 
people for whom she worked, and found that 
she was a girl of excellent character, and fit 
to look after his dear little child. But when 
he called on her aunt to tell who he was, and 
to give the name of a good gentleman who 
knew him in the city, Lucy felt sure that he 
was the right kind of a man. 

Then the dresses were all finished, the sacks 
fitted, the hats trimmed, the shoes and stock- 
ings selected, and beautiful little nighties 
done up, by far the nicest ones the little gipsy 
had ever had. The steamer trunks were 
packed, the tickets bought, and away and 
away for England sailed Little Gipsy Jane. 

There was much to tell her on the short 
voyage. Her papa wanted her to know some- 
thing about the home to which she was go- 
ing. And her gray eyes grew long and 
dreamy, as he told of her grandpapa, whom 
people called “ Lord Rosemere,” and of Rose- 


256 


GIPSY JANE 


mere Hall, as the old homestead had been 
named a hundred years before. 

He told of Willets, the old nurse and house- 
keeper, who had lived at the Hall ever since 
his father and mother were married. Of 
Dillon, the old butler, of Metts and Collins, 
Lemmis, the parlor-maid, and the lower ser- 
vants. 

He told the names of the horses and dogs, 
and the name of Mumsy, the splendid Persian 
cat. 

But he dwelt longest and most lovingly on 
his dear father. Lord Rosemere, whose hair 
was turning gray, although he was not yet 
an old man. 

“ He will love my little girl, I know,” said 
Bruce, “ and I shall want her to see how much 
like a little lady she can appear in her own 
new home. It is really grandpapa’s home, 
but it will be yours and mine, too. Grand- 
papa will want you to be obedient, to speak 
prettily to him, gently to the servants, and to 
be kind to every living creature on the place.” 


THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD 257 

Her papa had spoken very soberly, but he 
all at once had to smile, for the dimpled chin 
had squared itself into determined little cor- 
ners, and the dreamy gray eyes had become 
large and widely opened, as she said, with a 
will : 

“ I shall do just all my grandpapa wants 
me to. I shall! I shall!” 

On the steamer there was fun all the day 
long. When it was rough, and she rolled 
a few times to the floor from under Lucy’s 
hands, as she was dressing her, the child fairly 
screamed with laughter. 

And Lucy, whose cheeks were already 
growing rosy with her easier days and old 
ocean’s health-giving breezes, would laugh 
just to hear the shouts of the merry child. 

Every day there was a little lesson on board, 
and little Jane would have been glad to have 
had it longer, so much did she enjoy it. The 
young father had feared it would be slow 
work teaching a child who was so entirely a 
beginner. But before the voyage of eleven 


258 


GIPSY JANE 


days was over, little Jane had learned her 
letters, and could also tell time. 

“ It is true,” he mused, “ she is not all 
Romany. ‘ She’s got different blood in her,’ 
as her grandmother said.” 

There was much to see, much to learn, and 
many questions to be answered. There were 
also other children on board, and little Jane 
soon found that the little daughter of a fine 
gentleman was looked upon as a very differ- 
ent person from a gipsy child in the great, 
beautiful world. 

“ It is cleaner to live in houses than in 
tents,” she said to herself, “ and the woods are 
small and dark after the bright, wide world.” 

Bruce had written a long, long letter to his 
father, telling all the story of how he had 
found his child. He kept back nothing. This 
time there was to be nothing hid. He told 
of the arrangements he had made with 
Mother Rebekah, and that he was about to 
bring home with him his own little child. 


THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD 


259 


“ She seems a dear, good little creature,” 
he wrote, “ who I feel sure will be like a sun- 
beam in the quiet old home. I hope you will 
learn to love her.” 

He purposely said nothing about the child’s 
looks. 

Lord Rosemere pondered the unexpected 
story. Then he looked around. He glanced 
at the portraits of proud men and grand ladies 
on the walls. He looked at the costly paint- 
ings, the carvings in marble, the rich carpets, 
wrought laces, porcelains, crystals, and the 
wide spaces of the handsome room. 

“ I don’t know, I don’t know! ” he sighed. 
“ I shall have to see this gipsy child before 
I can decide whether she will be welcome 
at the Hall.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


GRANDPAPA 

The day soon came when little Gipsy Jane 
was on English shores. 

As she got into a carriage with her father, 
Lucy sitting opposite, she had to keep up a 
series of little dimpled grins, everything was 
so bright and pleasant. 

- It was rather late before they reached Rose- 
mere Hall. Yet the little girl peered from 
the window, and saw the man with a lantern 
come out and unlock wide iron gates, through 
which the carriage rolled. 

It seemed to little Jane that they rode a 
long way before the carriage stopped, and 
there was the brightly lighted house, and her 
papa was lifting her on to the steps. 

A tall man in a dark coat, with buttons that 

260 


GRANDPAPA 


261 

had some device on them, opened the door, 
and then almost immediately a plump, oldish, 
motherly woman, in a black silk dress and 
a white lace cap on her •head, caught little 
Jane in her arms, exclaiming: 

“And is this Master Bruce’s dear little 
baby? Well, well, she shall come and be old 
Willets’s baby, too. So she shall! And isn’t 
the little dolly tired almost to death with the 
long voyage, and being trundled way out into 
the country, top o’ that? She shall come right 
into Willets’s room and have a warm supper, 
then get right into her little beddins, so she 
shall!” 

Still holding the little child close under her 
arm, Willets turned, with warm words of wel- 
come, to “ Master Bruce,” and then said to 
Lucy: 

“ And ’ow do you do, my dear? I’ll ring 
for Lemmis, the parlor-maid, and she’ll take 
you to the lower sitting-room, and you shall 
have a good ’ot supper, too. 

“ My lord has gone up to Lunnon,” she 


262 


GIPSY JANE 


added, turning to Bruce again, “ and won’t be 
back till midnight; it’s a great feast he’s gone 
to, so you and the tot can have a snug, cosy 
supper right in my foom.” 

She rang a bell, and a neat, jolly-looking 
girl appeared, whom Lucy followed, seeming 
tired and just a little homesick. 

Yes, Bruce was very willing to have his sup- 
per in the housekeeper’s room, as he had 
done many a time in the past, then his little 
girl would not have a chance to feel lonely. 

Everything was new and strange as could 
be to the child who had come so far from 
her own home, yet everything pleased and in- 
terested her. She watched, with amused and 
curious eyes, as Dillon, the old butler, laid 
the table, on which he soon had a delicious 
little pigeon-pie, an egg salad, toast, marma- 
lade, muffins, coffee, and a pitcher of fresh, 
rich milk. 

Little Jane always remembered that first 
supper in her grandpapa’s house. It was 


GRANDPAPA 263 

quite chilly outside, and a wood-fire gleamed 
and crackled on the wide hearth. 

That kind of a fire seemed natural and 
“ homey ” to the little gipsy, who had often 
watched the bright flames leaping and gleam- 
ing near the tents. But she did not wish her- 
self back. Even with a brisk blaze of wood 
and twigs, it was apt to be cold in the woods, 
while here, all was cheering warmth, light 
and comfort. A tall lamp on the table, and 
candles in sconces on the wall, made the room 
as light as day. Willets had put a thick, 
soft cushion in a high-backed chair, close to 
her own, which made the child’s seat at the 
table just high enough. 

Pigeon-pie, which Willets indulgently de- 
clared “ couldn’t hurt her an atom that par- 
tic’lar as ’twas made,” was something sweet, 
tender, and crusty, beyond anything she had 
ever eaten before. Egg salad she did not care 
for, and so passed it by, but the crisp toast, 
delicious marmalade, buttered muffins, and 
sweet, warm milk, were all so nice, that the 


264 GIPSY JANE 

little girl kept dimpling and peeping with 
such simple delight in Willets’s kind old face, 
as to win the housekeeper’s affection once and 
forever. 

It was all so cosy and lulling, that, having 
eaten and enjoyed her lovely supper, the soft 
warmth and murmur of voices began to seem 
far away, and the child dozed off into light 
slumber, her curly head pressed against the 
back of the tall chair. 

“Why, bless her little ’art,” exclaimed Wil- 
lets, “ if here the darling midgins hasn’t 
toppled off to sleep, and we not a-minding 
it, so busy with our talk! ” 

At that, Bruce explained that Lucy, the 
young girl who had come with them from 
America, was a really nice young person, 
who was to act as the child’s nurse, and Wil- 
lets readily promised that she should receive 
the best of treatment. 

Then Lucy was summoned, and looked 
much cheered after her own hot supper and 
polite welcome from the other maids, and 


GRANDPAPA 


265 


Willets bustled off with her and the sleepy 
child, to show where “little Miss Jane’s” 
room was to be, with a very pretty one lead- 
ing out of it for Lucy herself. 

Before the tired child was dressed the next 
morning, her papa and her grandpapa had 
started away for a club-house, where they 
were to breakfast with a party of gentlemen, 
two of whom were to leave immediately for a 
trip to India. 

This meant that they were to have a fine 
feast at about twelve o’clock at noon, and 
would not be at home until about three in 
the afternoon. Bruce, however, had seen 
Lucy before he went away, and told her how 
he wanted the little Jane to be dressed by the 
middle of the afternoon. 

He was anxious that his father. Lord 
Rosemere, should see his little granddaughter 
for the first time looking as sweet and be- 
witching as possible. 

Among her new dresses was a gauzy white 
muslin, almost exactly like the one in which 


266 


GIPSY JANE 


she had danced at the concert. Only every- 
thing about this one was white. The satin 
bows at shoulders, elbows, and peeping here 
and there midst the ruffles of the skirt, also 
the wide sash, were all of spotless white. 

Her papa thought, and thought truly, that 
here in her own home, the dark locks, long 
gray eyes, with their dark shading of eye- 
lashes, rosy cheeks, and cherry lips, would add 
color enough to make the child altogether 
charming, without any other tint being added. 

And Lucy obeyed orders. The shining 
locks of purple-black, beautifully fluffed and 
curled, held here and there a catchy little bow 
of pure white ribbon. At shoulders, elbows, 
and on the skirt, the soft satin knots gleamed 
fair and spotless. A wide sash, white silk 
stockings, and white satin shoes with rosettes 
of white, made up the snowy attire of the 
perfect little fairy. 

Lucy regarded her with pride and satisfac- 
tion, while Willets said softly, so only Lucy 
could hear: 



“‘HOW DO YOU DO, GRANDPAPA? I AM YOUR LITTLE 
GRANDDAUGHTER, JANE.’ ” 







GRANDPAPA 267 

“ She looks like a dressed-up queen of all 
the dollies, that she does! ” 

The day had turned exceedingly warm. It 
was mid-October, and although the lawns 
were still a velvety green, and autumn blooms 
gleamed red and yellow in the flower-beds, 
the heat was quite unusual for the time of 
year. 

Lord Rosemere returned from the break- 
fast party, and, in velvet smoking- jacket and 
tasselled cap, went to the lawn at the side of 
the house, and near the flower-beds, and 
seated himself in a great rustic chair. 
Mumsy, the fine Persian cat, found him 
there, newspaper in hand, and half asleep. 
She jumped into his lap and was soon doz- 
ing herself. 

“Now,” said little Jane’s papa, “grand- 
papa is over there in his great garden arm- 
chair, and I want you to go right up to him 
and say: % 

“ ‘ How do you do, grandpapa? I am your 
little granddaughter, Jane.’ ” 


268 


GIPSY JANE 


The child meant to do exactly as she 
was told. Her father watched her as like a 
snowflake she tripped lightly over the beauti- 
ful lawn, and paused at the chair. 

Lord Rosemere, who was still half dozing, 
all at once opened his eyes, and saw before 
him what looked like a sure-enough fairy, a 
radiant little vision all in white, a child, beau- 
tiful beyond any other child he had ever 
looked upon. 

Then the pretty cheeks dimpled, and a dear 
little voice said: 

“ How do you do, grandpapa? I am your 
little Gipsy Jane.” 

You see it was so natural to call herself 
that name, that the words slipped out with- 
out her noticing that she had said the wrong 
thing. 

Lord Rosemere still stared, scarcely know- 
ing if he were awake or if he really was look- 
ing at a snowy little vision. 

But something in the looks of the fine gen- 
tleman, with his mixed gray and black hair. 


GRANDPAPA 


269 


his iron-gray mustache, white hands, and 
well-fitting garments, seemed all at once to 
make the little gipsy child feel the great dif- 
ference existing between this man, and the 
men she had been used to seeing. And look- 
ing at him with long, eager gray eyes, she 
asked, with sudden eagerness: 

“ Grandpapa, will you show me how to 
read?” 

Lord Rosemere was wide awake now, and 
looking soberly at the beautiful child, he said : 

“So you are my little Gipsy Jane, you 
say? ” 

“ Oh, I didn’t mean to say that,” the child 
replied. “I’m not to be a gipsy any longer. 
I was to say, ^ I am your little granddaughter 
Jane.’ ” 

Then, without waiting for an answer to the 
remark, she asked again: 

“ Grandpapa, will you show me how to 
read?” 

“And don’t you know how to read?” 


270 


GIPSY JANE 


he asked, wondering what made the little girl 
look so familiar. 

“ No, I don’t yet, but I’m going to.” 

“Are you quite sure you can learn?” he 
asked, beginning to feel amused at the sure 
tones of the child. 

“ I can if I try. And I shall read. I 
shall!” 

Then Lord Rosemere knew that the lovely 
fairy in white must indeed be the child of his 
dear Bruce, for as she said “ I shall,” the cor- 
ners of her little chin squared off in a way 
he had seen his son’s chin square many and 
many a time when, as boy and man, he had 
made up his mind to a thing. 

And no wonder the pretty little face looked 
familiar; they were Bruce’s own eyes, and his 
dear mother’s eyes that were looking into his 
face with so much eagerness. 

Lord Rosemere smiled. “Yes, grandpapa 
will teach you to read,” he said. 

Just then, Mumsy, who had been blinking 
at little Jane as if she half wondered what was 


GRANDPAPA 


271 


going on, got up, stretched herself until her 
back looked like a great hump, then down she 
jumped. 

And little Jane, seeing her grandpapa 
smile, and hearing him say he would teach her 
to read, went nearer to him, and asked, with a 
wistful look: 

“ Can’t I get up there, grandpapa, where 
Mumsy was, and snuggle up to you? I want 
to, may I?” 

The child’s beauty, her affectionate little 
ways and familiar gray eyes, went straight to 
her grandpapa’s heart. 

“ Yes, come right up,” and Lord Rosemere 
opened wide his arms. 

As the little girl cuddled naturally close 
to him, as she had learned to with her papa, 
she said, with a witching smile: 

“I’m going to be your little Pussy-Jane, 
now. Mumsy can’t come here only when 
I’m away somewheres.” 

“Yes, you shall be just that, my little 
Pussy-Jane,” said her grandpapa. 


272 


GIPSY JANE 


Then he fell to thinking how strange it 
seemed, and, yes, how pleasant it was, to have 
this dear, soft little snowflake, cuddling close 
as she could to his heart, calling him “ grand- 
papa ” as easily as though she had known 
him all her little life. 

He asked a few questions that the child an- 
swered in a merry way, showing how light 
was her heart. 

“ I am glad she is so young,” he thought, 
“ it will be so easy to teach her new ways and 
give her new ideas.” 

Bruce had purposely left child and grand- 
sire by themselves, thinking they would the 
more easily get acquainted. Now he saun- 
tered over to the garden chair. 

Lord Rosemere was in a doze again, his 
little snowflake of a grandchild also asleep 
in his encircling arms. The beautiful little 
head was just below his chin, one little arm 
around his neck. 

“They’re friends, sure!” he murmured. 

Both sleepers stirred at his approach. 


GRANDPAPA 273 

“ I’m grandpapa’s little Pussy-Jane,” said 
the child, sleepily. 

“ Yes, she’s my dear little Pussy-Jane,” said 
her grandpapa, holding her tight. 


CHAPTER XXL 

THE LITTLE LADY OF ROSEMERE HALL 

“ There is no mistake about it,” Lord 
Rosemere said to his son Bruce, as they met 
in the wide hall one morning in midwinter, 
“ it makes all the difference in the world hav- 
ing a child in the house. I remember that 
in your young days I used to like hearing 
the clatter, the coming and the going of youth- 
ful feet. Listen to that now, will you? ” 

The father and son looked at each other 
with laughing eyes. In the morning-room, 
at one side of the oak-panelled hall, there 
was the merry tinkling of a violin, the sound 
of dancing feet, and a childish voice singing 
in a clear treble : 

“ Tra-la ! Tra-la ! Hi-ho ! Hi-ho ! ” 

274 


THE LITTLE LADY OF ROSEMERE HALL 275 

“ I don’t see how she can play the violin 
and dance at the same time,” said Lord Rose- 
mere. 

“ She won’t when she gets farther along 
with her music,” Bruce replied, “ but it comes 
as natural to our little girl to dance as it does 
to the birds to hop and sing. Her music- 
master tells me she is going to do great things 
with the violin.” 

“ She is going to make a fine little scholar, 
too,” said Lord Rosemere, with a note of 
pride in his voice that it did his son good to 
hear. 

Yes, as time went on, little Pussy-Jane” 
began to do wonderfully well with the violin. 
Oddly enough, she had never once spoken 
of her tambourine after going away with her 
papa. She seemed to realize that it belonged 
to her old life and the camp, and not to the 
new life and her grandpapa’s house. 

And perhaps, oddly enough, too, the read- 
ing lessons were as great a pleasure to her 
grandpapa as they were to her. For Lord 


276 


GIPSY JANE 


Rosemere was as good as his word, and taught 
his little Pussy-Jane to read. Then he went 
on and taught her to write. 

And now at the beginning of a new year 
had come the governess, and regular lessons 
were to be learned each day. 

About five months after little Jane went 
away from Mother Rebekah and the tents, 
her papa received a letter from the banker 
in New York, saying that the old gipsy 
mother stopped coming for her generous al- 
lowance after three months, but that a man, 
calling himself Ajax, had come for it two 
months longer. 

Then, as the banker thought he had better 
look after matters, he sent a messenger to the 
encampment, who found that Mother Re- 
bekah had taken a severe cold at some other 
camp, where she went to tell fortunes two 
months before, and, growing too sick to re- 
cover, she soon passed away. 

Ajax, after the manner of gipsies, had gone 


THE LITTLE LADY OF ROSEMERE HALL 277 

on drawing the money, pretending it was 
meant for the camp. 

But Bruce wrote that the matter might end 
there. Ajax was welcome to what he had 
drawn, although he knew he had no right 
to it. 

When Bruce told his little girl that Granny 
Bekka had gone, she said, solemnly: 

“ I am glad Granny Bekka has passed into 
the holy Heaven of Heavens; it is so much 
better than dwelling in tents, and she never, 
never would have lived in a house.” Then 
her face dimpled, as she added: 

“ I think it is lovely, lovely, lovely to dwell 
in a house.” 

Was it strange that her father was glad 
to have no link left between the old life and 
the new? He did not wish her to forget her 
grandmother, but he was very willing that the 
tents and gipsy habits should glide into the 
past, and be only faintly remembered. 

As for little Jane, she was her grandpapa’s 
pride and darling. His first question, on 


278 GIPSY JANE 

entering the house, unless she ran to meet 
him, would be: 

“Where is little Pussy-Jane?’’ 

Her papa, too, was delighted with so good 
and dear a child, and with the progress she 
made with her music and her studies. 

It had become a common thing for his 
friends to speak of “ Bruce Rosemere’s 
charming little girl.” And it had not been 
thought at all strange when he brought her 
home, simply saying that she had been with 
her mother’s friends while a baby girl. 

As spring approached. Lord Rosemere 
was often seen driving in the park, his rose- 
bud grandchild by his side. When his friends 
came for a grand dinner at Rosemere Hall, 
the little girl was usually presented at dessert, 
and almost always dressed in white. 

But, after Lucy — contented, rosy Lucy — 
had once taken off the white trimmings, and 
put small yellow chrysanthemums wherever 
white bows had been, using a sash and shoe 
rosettes of yellow satin, her grandpapa would 


THE LITTLE LADY OF ROSEMERE HALL 279 

every little while ask that chrysanthemum 
trimmings ” might be used. 

But papa never liked them as well as the 
pure white ones. 

One day in early fall, when the child was 
nine years old, she was not to be found any- 
where when her grandpapa came home and 
inquired for her. 

Willets declared that she had a way of 
running down by the peach-wall with her 
violin, and, when Lucy was called, she said: 

‘‘Yes, Miss Jane asks every afternoon if 
she can run down by the south wall and prac- 
tise, and, as the place seems perfectly safe, 
I have let her go.’’ 

“ All right. I’ll find her,” said her grand- 
papa. 

He stole across the lawn, through the gar- 
den, and over by the warm, sunny wall, where 
the peach-trees showed fruit that was slowly 
ripening. A small gate opened with a key 
into this south plot from the road outside. 
As Lord Rosemere softly approached, he 


28 o 


GIPSY JANE 


came upon a sight that surely puzzled 
him. 

Flat on the grass sat his cherished little 
Jane, her violin under her chin, while di- 
rectly before her sat a little, soiled, ragged 
girl, also holding a violin in proper position. 
The voice of his grandchild came clearly 
across to where his lordship stood behind a 
tree : 

“ Now, you must learn to hold the violin 
just right, or else you can’t draw the bow 
so’s to make it talk the way you want it to.” 

Lord Rosemere went away as silently as 
he had come, but he strolled about, keeping 
the children in sight, until at the end of a 
little more than half an hour, the lesson came 
to an end, the poor child was let out into the 
road, and little Jane ran up to the house. 

Her grandpapa scarcely knew what to do, 
but decided to tell Bruce what he had seen, 
and let him speak to the little girl about it. 

But he was saved the trouble of mentioning 
it. That night after supper, little Jane said: 



« ‘ NOW, YOU MUST LEARN TO HOLD THE VIOLIN JUST 

RIGHT.’ ” 



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THE LITTLE LADY OF ROSEMERE HALL 28 1 

“ Papa, there’s a dre’df’ly poor little girl 
that has watched me play the violin in the 
garden, and I’ve talked with her, oh, ever 
so many times, and she said she should most 
die of joy if she could play the violin. So 
I took my first little fiddle, and two or three 
times I’ve been teaching her, and she learns 
just as easy! ♦ 

But now there’s another poor little girl 
wants to learn, too, and, papa, I have every- 
thing so splendid, I want to make some one 
else all happy, and can’t I have a little class, 
and teach some poor children the violin? 
Please, I want to dre’df’ly! ” 

“ I am afraid that would hardly be best,” 
said her papa, “ and you are too young to 
teach correctly, but the time will come, I 
think, when I shall be very, very glad to have 
my dear child help others, and do all the good 
in the world she can.” 

Little Jane looked disappointed, but Lord 
Rosemere became very thoughtful after the 
little girl had spoken, and now he said: 


282 


GIPSY JANE 


“Sometimes, Pussy-Jane, grandpapa has 
thought he did not do his share of good in 
the world, although he has tried at times to 
help the poor and unfortunate. But now Pll 
tell you what I will do. 

“ There is a school for teaching poor chil- 
dren to sew, and another for teaching them 
to cook, and I will see that your two poor 
little girls and a few others are taught to play 
the violin. But I think, as papa says, that 
your lessons, music, and necessary exercise 
are quite as much as Miss Pussy-Jane should 
attend to at present.” 

“That will be fine!” said the little girl, 
with a happy smile, “ but,” she sobered and 
spoke as if very much in earnest, “ some day, 
I am going to make other children happy.” 

Rosemere Hall was ablaze with lights. 
Dillon, in new livery, was striding across the 
great entrance-hall, full of dignity and impor- 
tance. 

Willets, in her best stiff black silk and her 


THE LITTLE LADY OF ROSEMERE HALL 2S3 

finest lace barb on her head, with long ends 
floating over her shoulders, was going the 
last rounds to see that everything was in order. 

Lemmis, the parlor-maid, in shiny poplin 
dress and embroidered white apron, was flit- 
ting to and fro, ready, with Metts and Collins, 
to do good service up-stairs ere long. Some 
of the under servants were assisting the hired 
waiters in spreading a wonderful table. 

A young man was going through the draw- 
ing-room, library, morning-room and halls, 
making sure that the candles were all right, 
and that the flames in the chandeliers were at 
the proper height. 

Behind a green bower at the far end of the 
long hall, musicians were already tuning 
their instruments. 

It was grandpapa’s birthday, and a grand 
party was to be given at Rosemere Hall. 

It was also understood that Bruce Rosemere 
was to present, in a kind of juvenile sense, 
his dear little daughter of nine years, whom 
Lord Rosemere was already beginning to 


284 


GIPSY JANE 


Speak of as “ The little Lady of Rosemere 
Hall.” 

Up-stairs, Lucy was doing wonders with 
the purple-black tresses and the dainty figure 
of her little charge. 

White to-night, all white. Small white 
chrysanthemums wired into the fluffy curls. 
Small white chrysanthemums at shoulders, 
elbows, clumped at spaces on the skirt, hang- 
ing in loops, forming a sash, and fastened as 
rosettes on the white slippers. 

The dress of white lace ruffled to the waist, 
worn over a skirt of soft white silk, was dressy 
yet simple, as became so young a child. 

But it was a fluffy white bird that fluttered 
up to her papa and grandpapa in the draw- 
ing-room. 

Grandpapa, who, in evening suit, ‘‘ all 
black and white,” except his rich watch-fob 
and jewelled seals, looked like a king, the 
child thought, in his fine old home. And 
papa, on her other side, tall, gray-eyed, looked 


THE LITTLE LADY OF ROSEMERE HALL 285 

like the son of the kindly lord, who was very 
happy to-night. 

Carriages began rolling up to the door. 
Dillon waved the guests to the rooms above 
with air magnificent; Lemmis, Metts, and 
Collins waited upon the ladies. 

The orchestra was sending sweet, lingering 
echoes along the hall and through the rooms, 
that almost made little Jane’s feet twinkle in 
spite of herself. 

There were to be a few dances late in the 
evening, after all the guests had been received, 
and she was to be grandpapa’s partner. 

Handsome men and beautiful ladies, 
dressed as little Jane had never seen ladies 
dressed before, kept coming in couples, bow- 
ing to grandpapa and papa, never failing to 
say kind and, oh, very pleasant words of 
greeting, to the little Lady of Rosemere Hall. 

More than one gentleman and more than 
one lady said very unwise things to grandpapa 
and papa right before the little lady, so she 
could not fail to hear. She heard herself 


286 


GIPSY JANE 


called sweet, flattering names, and papa 
would laugh, show his white teeth, and say: 

“No, oh, no! She is only my dear little 
daughter.” But grandpapa would nod and 
say, in a whisper: 

“ Not quite so loud, not quite so loud, but 
it is true, all true! ” 

When the dancing began, the child, while 
taking three steps to grandpapa’s one, yet kept 
perfect time. It was a pretty sight, the stately 
man, still in life’s rich prime, dancing with 
more deliberate steps, and the breezy white 
butterfly flitting before or beside him, never 
losing time, but keeping up a graceful whirl 
of motion that delighted every one. 

But she would dance with no one but 
grandpapa or papa. 

At supper, grandpapa led the way with the 
little Lady of Rosemere Hall. 

Papa gave his arm to a grand old lady, 
whose neck and arms, little Jane thought, 
seemed to have candles on them, the diamonds 
flared so. 


THE LITTLE LADY OF ROSEMERE HALL 287 

Oh, it was a glorious evening! Little Jane 
thought she had been happy many times be- 
fore, but nothing had ever come up to this. 
This house was her home. And to think of 
it! Here was an orchestra right in her home! 

And Granny Bekka’s stories had done her 
good, after all, fanciful as they often were. 
They had made her thoughtful. She was a 
thoughtful little thing, when under the skies 
before the door of the tent she used to gaze 
up at the stars, her little mind full of its own 
imaginings. 

And to-night, midst all the jollity and pleas- 
ure, her mind was awake, and she learned 
something. She saw that her station in life 
was to be a high one, and all at once she made 
up that strong little will to learn, learn all she 
could, so that papa and grandpapa would 
never be ashamed of her. 

It showed how early teachings will cling 
to the heart of a child, when, as her papa 
kissed her good night, she said, with a sober 
light in her sweet gray eyes: 


288 


GIPSY JANE 


“ I must be very good, because the great 
Lord of Hosts has been very kind to me.” 

Willets gave her one great motherly hug, 
holding her soft little face in her neck a mo- 
ment, as she said: 

“ And she danced like a little snowflake 
dolly beside the lord of the hall, she did 
that!” 

Lucy undressed her with deft fingers. A 
few minutes later the curly head was on the 
white pillow, and the child was in Slumber 
Land : 

The “ Little Lady of Rosemere Hall,” the 
beautiful little creature whom we first knew 
as “ Little Gipsy Jane.” 





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